1 


M 


THE 


AND 


OTHER   TALES 


BY  JAMES  HALL, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  LEGENDS  OP  THE  WEST." 


PHILADELPHIA: 

KEY  AND  BIDDLE,  NO.  6  MINOR  STREET 

A.  WALDIK,  PRINTER. 

1833. 


ENTERED,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1833,  by  HARRI- 
SON HALL,  proprietor,  in  the  clerk's  otfece  of  the  district  for  the  eastern  dis- 
trict of  Pennsylvania. 


s 

" 

PREFACE. 


The  flattering  reception  of  the  "  Legends  of  the 
West,"  has  induced  the  publisher  of  that  little  vo- 
lume to  venture  upon  another  by  the  same  author. 
He  is  the  more  encouraged  in  this  enterprise,  by  a 
belief  that  the  American  public  is  beginning  to 
awaken  from  the  apathy  with  which  our  native 
writers  have  heretofore  been  regarded,  and  that 
our  countrymen  are  now  willing  to  bestow  upon 
native  genius,  some  of  the  patronage  which  has 
been  lavished  with  indiscriminate  profusion  upon 
undeserving  foreigners. 

A  number  of  the  tales  in  this  volume  have  already 
been  published,  but  some  of  them  appeared  several 
years  ago,  and  are  now  forgotten  :  and  while  a  few 
have  had  the  advantage  of  extensive  circulation  in 
popular  periodicals,  others  have  not  been  thus 
favoured.  It  is  thought  therefore,  that  they  will  be 
sufficiently  novel  to  most  readers,  and  desirable  to 
the  friends  of  the  author,  to  warrant  the  collection 
of  them  in  a  volume.  It  will  be  seen  that  they  are 
strictly  American.  Should  the  work  sustain  in  the 
opinion  of  the  public,  the  character  claimed  for  it, 
the  publisher  will  have  attained  his  object,  and  the 
author  stand  excused  for  permitting  himself  to  be 
again  placed  at  the  bar  of  criticism  as  a  writer  of 
fiction. 

Philada.   1833. 


M  4734 


CONTENTS. 


I.  The  Soldier's  Bride ;   .....    13 

II.  Cousin  Lucy  and  the  Village  Teacher.    .    '.    .    .    .    .    57 

III.  Empty  Pockets 81 

IV.  The  Captain's  Lady .''*'.'    .....     91 

V.  The  Philadelphia  Dun .    ...    .     -  105 

VI.  The  Bearer  of  Despatches.       .    .    .    .    .''..'    .     .117 

VII.  The  Village  Musician.       .    .    .    .    .    ...    .    .132 

VIII.  Fashionable  Watering-places.    .    '*    .  '.  --.    :  '  .    .159 

IX.  The  Useful  Man.    ......    i'   •"  -    •    •    •    -175 

X.  The  Dentist ,*;.-.    .    .    .  190 

XI.  The  Bachelor's  Elysium.     .    .    .    .?VV   .    •    -  •    •  209 

XII.  Pete  Featherton .'  .::.    .    .    .    .234 

XIII.  The  Billiard  Table.      .    .    .    .    .    .    *    ,    .    .    .253 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 


"  Oh !  love!  love i  laddie, 

Love's  like  a  dizziness, 
It  winna  let  a  puir  boddy 
Gang  about  his  business." 

A  few  years  ago,  that  part  of  the  state  of  New 
York  which  lies  along  the  main  route  from  the 
Hudson  to  the  western  lakes,  presented  an  agree- 
able, but  eccentric,  diversity  of  scenic  beauty, 
combining  the  wildest  traits  of  nature  with  the 
cheerful  indications  of  enlightened  civility  and  rural 
comfort.  The  desert  smiled — :but  it  smiled  in  its 
native  beauty.  The  foot  of  science  had  not  yet 
wandered  thither ;  nor  had  the  ample  coffers  of  a 
state  been  opened,  to  diffuse,  with  unexampled 
munificence,  over  a  widely  spread  domain  the 
blessings  of  industry  and  commerce.  The  beautiful 
villages  scattered  throughout  this  extensive  region, 
exhibited  a  neatness,  taste,  and  order,  which  would 
have  been  honourable  to  older  communities.  Be- 
tween these  little  towns  lay  extensive  tracts  of 
wilderness,  still  tenanted  by  the  deer,  and  enlivened 
by  the  notes  of  the  feathered  tribes.  Farms,  newly 
2 


14  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

opened,  were  thinly  dispersed  at  convenient  dis- 
tances. The  traveller,  as  he  held  his  solitary  way 
among  the  shadows  of  the  forest,  acknowledged  the 
sovereignty  of  the  sylvan  deities,  whose  sway  seemed 
undisputed ;  but  from  these  silent  shades  he  emerged 
at  once  into  the  light  and  life  of  civilised  society. 
Such  were  the  effects  produced  by  an  industrious 
and  somewhat  refined  population,  thrown  among 
the  romantic  lakes,  the  fertile  vallies,  and  the  bound- 
less forests  of  the  West. 

The  war  of  1812,  while  it  exposed  the  feeble 
settlements  of  the  frontier  .to  the  danger  of  hostile 
incursions,  produced  life  and  bustle,  where,  before, 
all  had  been  silence  and  repose.  Multitudes  of  men 
penetrated  the  quiet  recesses  of  the  forest,  and 
pitched  their  tents  by  the  peaceful  waters,  whose 
murmurs  had  heretofore  mingled  harmoniously  with 
the  songs  of  the  native  melodists.  The  drum,  the 
trumpet,  and  the  fife — the  clash  of  arms,  and  the 
heavy  reverberations  of  artillery — the  rumbling  of 
wheels,  and  the  voices  of  men — all  that  is  discord- 
ant, and  all  that  is  inspiring,  in  the  sounds  of  war, 
burst  upon  the  repose  of  the  wilderness.  In  these 
regions,  however,  such  terrific  indications  lasted 
but  for  a  moment, — the  gust  of  war,  like  the  sum- 
mer cloud  sporting  its  forked  lightnings  as  it  swept 
along,  rolled  onward,  to  develop  all  its  awful  splen- 
dour, and  destructive  energy,  on  the  distant  field  of 
battle. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  1814,  a  company  of 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  15 

American  soldiers,  destined  for  the  shores  of  lake 
Erie,  marched  through  this  sequestered  country. 
Upon  a  delightful  evening,  late  in  the  month  of  May, 
they  arrived  at  one  of  those  pretty  villages  to  which 
I  have  alluded,  upon  the  borders  of  a  small  lake. 
This  little  band  consisted  of  about  ninety  newly 
enlisted  men,  commanded  by  a  single  officer,  whose 
youthful  appearance  indicated  that  his  military 
career  had  as  yet  been  brief.  The  vicinity  of  a 
comfortable  hamlet,  and  the  signs  of  civility  and 
plenty,  were  peculiarly  grateful  to  the  weary  sol- 
diers, who  had  toiled  on  their  march  from  the  dawn, 
until  near  the  close  of  an  unusually  sultry  day.  If 
not  "  tired  of  war's  alarms,"  they  were  oppressed 
with  its  fatigues.  Emerging  from  the  bosom  of  the 
monotonous  forest,  whose  loneliness  and  silence  had 
become  tiresome,  they  halted  on  a  small  eminence, 
and  gazed  upon  the  scene  before  them.  There 
were  groups  of  cottages  embowered  in  shrubbery, 
and  a  few  edifices  of  higher  pretensions,  but  less 
picturesque ;  and  there  was  the  village  church, 
white  as  the  driven  snow,  pure  and  spotless  as  the 
purpose  to  which  it  was  devoted — with  its  pointed 
spire  directing  the  soul  to  another  world.  The  beams 
of  the  evening  sun  glittered  over  the  blue  waters 
of  the  lake,  and  the  surrounding  objects  threw 
their  long  shadows  upon  its  tranquil  mirror.  The 
lake  itself,  buried  among  the  hills  and  woods,  in- 
dented with  bays  and  promontories,  was  so  beauti- 
fully romantic,  that  even  the  rugged  soldiers  seemed 


16  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

to  inhale    refreshment  as   they   passed  along  its 
delightful  shores. 

Their  own  appearance  was  far  less  imposing. 
Fatigued  with  toil,  covered  with  sweat  and  dust, 
their  clothes  soiled,  their  shoes  worn  with  travel — 
they  seemed  to  bend  beneath  the  weight  of  their 
knapsacks,  as  they  stood  leaning  upon  their  arms. 
Upon  such  occasions,  however,  the  military  rule 
is  to  put  the  best  foot  foremost — particularly  if 
there  be  any  fair  ladies  in  the  case — and  the  officer 
prepared  to  march  through  the  village  with  all 
convenient  eclat. 

An  unpractised  observer  would  have  smiled  to 
see  how  much  importance  was  given  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  a  little  band  of  jaded  recruits,  previous  to 
their  exhibition  in  a  secluded  hamlet.  But  what 
soldier  triumphs  not  in  the  conquest  of  a  female 
heart? — where  is  the  martial  spirit  that  is  not 
elated  with  the  smile  of  beauty  ?  Churlish  indeed 
would  be  the  leader,  who  should  fail  in  the  observ- 
ance of  a  customary  homage  to  the  fair,  even  of  a 
village.  Not  so  our  officer — he  determined  that 
every  heart  in  the  hamlet  should  beat  to  the  music 
of  his  drum — and  cheerily  issued  his  orders.  The 
stragglers  are  called  in,  and  the  ranks  closed.  The 
systematic  order  of  parade  takes  place  of  the  loose- 
ness of  the  march.  The  soldier,  whose  weary 
limbs  seemed  incapable  of  further  exertion,  now 
appears  to  inhale  new  life ;  his  nerves  are  braced, 
his  form  erected,  and  his  arms  grasped  with  vigour. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  17 

The  drum  strikes  up  a  lively  march — the  little  fifer 
sends  forth  his  shrillest  notes — the  word  is  given, 
and  the  body  moves  forward  with  a  firm  and  rapid 
step*  The  piercing  sounds,  wafted  over  the  lake, 
announce  the  approach  of  the  military  strangers. 
The  villager  quits  his  work  to  stare — the  enraptured 
children  rush  to  join  the  cavalcade — the  ladies 
forsake  the  tea-table,  and  fly  to  the  windows  to  ad- 
mire "  the  handsome  fellows" — and  the  soldier  is 
rewarded  for  his  momentary  exertion ;  conscious 
that  he  has  excited  a  vivid  interest  which  will  not 
be  forgotten — at  least  within  the  next  twenty-four 
hours.  In  the  rear  comes  the  baggage-wagon  loaded, 
followed,  and  preceded,  by  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren— the  sick,  the  weary,  and  the  lame.  But 
even  these  are  not  without  their  pride.  The  poor 
soldier  with  his  knapsack  at  his  back — his  child  on 
one  arm,  and  his  wife  leaning  upon  the  other,  feels 
himself  as  much 


« his  country's  stay, 

In  the  day  and  hour  of  danger,"  I 

as  the  stoutest  comrade  in  the  ranks. 

The  young  officer  led  his  command  proudly 
through  the  village,  and  selected  a  retired  spot  on 
the  margin  of  the  lake  for  his  encampment 
Arrived  at  the  welcome  place  of  rest,  a  new  scene 
of  bustle  ensues.  The  officer  marks  off  the  ground 
for  his  camp,  and  surrounds  it  by  a  line  of  sentinels. 
The  pleas  of  fatigue  are  not  allowed  to  interfere 
with  the  established  rules  of  discipline,  and  all  are 
2* 


18  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

actively  engaged  in  erecting  the  frail  tenements  of 
canvass,  which  are  to  protect  them  during  the 
night.  The  wagons  discharge  their  multifarious 
burthens,  and  each  reclaims  his  own.  The  tents 
are  pitched  in  a  regular  line,  with  technical  accu- 
racy. Parties  are  despatched  to  procure  water, 
and  wood,  and  straw.  The  fires  are  kindled  in  the 
rear  of  the  encampment ;  the  business  of  cooking 
commences,  and  cheerfulness  reigns  throughout. 
The  sly  jest,  the  loud  laugh,  and  the  martial  song, 
resound.  Satisfied  with  the  present  enjoyment, 
the  careless  soldiers  soon  forgot  their  past  fatigues, 
and  took  little  thought  of  the  toils  that  awaited  them. 
There  was  one  who  regarded  this  scene  with 
intense  interest.  Mr.  Pendleton,  the  commanding 
officer,  was  a  young  gentleman  of  sense  and  feeling. 
Ardent,  romantic,  and  ambitious,  the  path  of  life 
Was  bright  before  him.  The  world  to  him  was,  as 
yet,  a  world  of  novelty  ;  he  gazed  with  delight  upon 
nature  and -on  man,  and  dreamed  of  still  greater 
Enjoyments  to  be  gathered  in  the  bright  career  im- 
printed upon  his  young  and  glowing  fancy.  He 
had  thrown  his  limbs  on  the  grass,  and  reclining  at 
full  length,  watched  the  unruffled  still  waters  of  the 
lake,  and  the  sun-beams  trembling  among  the  tops 
of  the  tall  trees.  As  he  dwelt  upon  the  quiet  land- 
scape, contrasting  it  with  the  tumult  and  the  dan- 
gers which  beset  the  path  of  ambition,  certain  hopes 
arose  unconsciously  in  his  bosom,  picturing  the 
scenes  of  bliss  and  repose  that  might  reward  a  youth 


19 

of  toil  and  peril.  In  his  fancy  he  beheld  a  fairy 
lake,  like  the  one  before  him,  a  cottage  embowered 
with  roses  and  honey-suckles,  and  a  pair  of  soft 
blue  eyes,  beaming  love  and  gladness  over  all. 
Then  turning  to  observe  the  careless  mortals  who 
acknowledged  his  command,  a  sense  of  the  respon- 
sibility of  his  station  recalled  his  fleeting  ideas. 

The  encampment  was  now  surrounded  by  the 
villagers,  who  had  eagerly  collected  to  behold  a 
spectacle,  which,  in  our  peaceful  country,  is  hap- 
pily of  rare  occurrence.  The  old  and  young  of 
either  sex  were  there,  decked  in  the  flaunting  hues 
of  rustic  finery ;  and  there  were  belles  and  beaux, 
and  all  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  hamlet. 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Corporal,"  said  the  village 
blacksmith  to  a  non-commissioned  officer,  who  was 
leading  out  a  watering  party.  The  corporal  con- 
sidered himself  on  detachment,  and  being  fond  of 
the  dignity  of  a  separate  command,  returned  the 
salutation  with  an  air  of  awkward  condescension. 

"  Bound  for  Canada,  eh  !  corporal  ?"  continued 
the  blacksmith,  "  Well,  that's  your  sort — but  where 
do  you  strike  first?  Quebec  or  Montreal  ?" 

"Can't  tell ;  we  hav'n't  determined  yet." 

"  Close  as  a  vice,  eh  ! — that's  the  way  with  you 
military  men — well,  well,  keep  your  own  counsel, 
only  mind  you  hammer  the  rust  off  them  are  British." 

u  Let  us  alone  for  that,"  said  the  corporal,  "  we 
shall  give  a  good  account  of  them  before  long." 

"That's  your  sort,  corporal, — strike*  while  the 


20  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

iron's  hot— give  me  you  yet.  You're  none  of  them 
tories  and  fellows  that  won't  fight ; — but  I  say,  Mr. 
Corporal,  can't  you  jisl  give  us  a  small  idee,  a  bit 
of  a  hint  like,  where  you  are  going?" 

"  Can't  indeed — don't  know,  'till  we  take  a  peep 
at  the  red  coats — but  you'll  hear  of  us  somewhere 
along  the  lakes." 

"  Ah  !  that's  your  sort,  corporal !  Kingston,  York, 
Fort  George. — I  see  you  know  how  to  hit  the  right 
nail  on  the  head — I  guess  I  know  what's  what ! 
Now  my  advice  to  you  is " 

"  After  we  dispose  of  them  there  small  places," 
said  the  corporal,  "  we  shall  take  Quebec." 

"  Right,  right,"  said  the  sable  politician,  "  that's 
jist  my  way — knock  off  all  my  small  jobs  first,  and 
keep  the  heavy  ones  to  the  last ;  but  I  say,  corpo- 
ral, don't  let  them  outwit  you,  as  they  did  old 
Hull." 

"  They'll  not  catch  old  birds  with  chafF;  we  shall 
be  wideawake,  and  duly  sober — "  "And  'live  as  a 
coal,  eh  !  well,  that's  your  sort, — jist  my  way,  I'm 
always " 

Here  the  corporal  marched  off  with  his  party,  to 
the  infinite  chagrin  of  the  loquacious  smith,  who, 
turning  to  an  old  woman  who  had  put  on  her  spec- 
tacles to  see  the  soldiers,  and  had  listened,  with 
ears  and  mouth  open,  to  the  preceding  dialogue — 

"You  see  how  it  is,  Mrs.  Chatterglib,"  said  he, 
"  we  pay  these  fellows  our  money,  and  can't  get  a 
word  out  of  them;  they've  no  more  gratitude  than 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  21 

a  bellows-handle — but  they're  fine  looking  young 
fellows,  howsomever." 

"  Nice  young  men,  indeed  !"  said  the  old  woman, 
"  more  rs  the  pity — poor  souls,  they'll  all  be  mur- 
dered !" 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  no  !  they'll  bear  as  much  ham- 
mering as  my  anvil,  and  never  mind  it." 

The  villagers  had  nearly  all  retired,  when  Mr. 
Pendleton  observed  a  young  female  lingering 
beyond  the  line  of  sentinels ;  and  believing  that 
neither  solitude  nor  silence  is  ever  voluntarily 
chosen  by  the  fair  sex,  he  thought  that  it  would  be 
a  praiseworthy  act  of  gallantry,  to  relieve  her  from 
both  by  his  presence  and  conversation.  Approach- 
ing with  that  easy  air  of  familiarity  which  soldiers 
feel  at  liberty  to  assume  towards  rustic  beauties, 
he  discovered  her  to  be  a  beautiful  blue  eyed  girl 
of  sixteen,  whose  neat  person  and  agreeable  fea- 
tures at  once  conciliated  kindness.  She  wore  a 
plain  dress  of  domestic  cotton,  and  the  office  of  a 
bonnet  was  performed  by  one  of  those  homely 
combinations  of  pasteboard  and  muslin,  commonly 
called  a  sun-bonnet,  which  shelters  head,  face,  neck, 
and  shoulders,  from  sunbeams  and  admiring  glances 
— unless  a  lady  happens  to  have  a  very  pretty  face, 
in  which  case  it  is  commonly  thrown  back.  The 
garb  of  the  fair  stranger  was  coarse  and  plain,  but 
there  was  an  air  of  unstudied  neatness  throughout 
the  whole  economy  of  her  person,  that  added  a 
charm  to  her  beauty,  which  mere  finery  could  not 


22  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

have  given.  She  leaned  against  a  small  tree,  resting 
her  innocent  and  unsophisticated  face  on  her  hand 
in  an  attitude  of  -deep  abstraction,  and  gazing  at 
the  camp  with  that  earnestness  of  curiosity,  which 
is  excited  in  inexperienced  minds  by  the  first  sight 
of  an  unusually  interesting  object.  Hers  was  not 
that  idle  glance  attracted  by  gaudy,  colours,  which 
the  poet  meant  when  he  said 

"  the  sex  loves  wicked  fellows," 

but  the  childish  wonder  of  an  artless  heart,  throb- 
bing with  delight  at  the  actual  presence  of  a  spec- 
tacle which  had  mingled  in  her  dreams,  and  warmed 
her  fancy.  The  unexpected  approach  of  the  young 
officer  covered  her  face  with  blushes,  but  an  instant 
restored  her  to  self-possession,  and  she  replied  to 
his  salutation  with  a  frankness  which  taught  him  to 
respect  her  confiding  simplicity.  Pendleton  became 
interested,  and  entered  upon  the  business  of  enter- 
taining the  lovely  stranger,  with  a  singleness  of 
purpose  that  soon  banished  restraint ;  and  ere  the 
young  enthusiasts  had  time  to  reflect  that  they  were 
strangers,  they  were  unconsciously  strolling  around 
the  camp  in  easy  conversation. 

The  youthful  maiden  gazed  with  delight  upon  all 
she  saw.  The  tents  were  wonderful !  the  uniforms 
beautiful!  the  drum  delightful!  and  the  soldiers, 
sweet  fellows,  were,  no  doubt,  every  man  of  them 
an  Adonis  in  the  eyes  of  the  romantic  girl.  Sweet 
are  the  dreams  of  youth,  when  fancy  gilds  with  her 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  23 

brightest  hues  all  that  is  graceful,  and  veils  every 
deformity  under  an  imaginary  charm  !  Such  were 
the  visions  of  the  pretty  rustic  as  she  beheld,  for 
the  first  time,  a  display,  however  humble,  of  "  the 
pomp,  pride,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war," — 
a  display  against  which  no  female  heart  has  ever 
yet  been  proof.  Every  sentinel  was,  in  her  eyes, 
a  knightly  hero,  glowing  with  patriotism,  and  cou- 
rage, and  honour;  and  their  commander,  of  course, 
a  very  Washington.  Her  eye  rested,  with  an 
admiration  truly  feminine,  upon  the  gaudy  orna- 
ments of  the  young  chieftain  ;  the  glittering  epaulet, 
the  gilded  sword-knot,  and  the  scarlet  sash,  were 
gayer  arid  richer  toys  than  her  unpractised  eye  had 
been  accustomed  to  behold ;  but  they  assumed  a 
nobler  value  in  her  estimation,  as  the  undisputed 
insignia  of  rank  and  merit,  and  as  she  gazed  upon 
that  young  officer,  her  admiration  was  mingled 
with  a  softer  sensation,  which  thrilled  every  nerve 
and  artery  with  a  new  and  undefinable  delight. 
The  officer  marked  the  delirium  of  the  sensitive 
girl,  but  was  not  coxcomb  enough  to  be  vain  of  the 
homage  which  he  was  conscious  he  owed  to  his 
profession,  his  dress,  and  his  command,  and  shared 
with  the  humblest  comrade  in  the  ranks  ;  and  which 
even  his  little  bandy-legged  bugler,  who  was  breath- 
ing forth  his  choicest  holiday  notes  in  an  adjacent 
thicket,  had  contributed  to  inspire.  His  own  emo- 
tions were  of  a  varied,  but  not  unpleasant  character. 
Here  was  a  young  and  beautiful  girl,  evidently  of 


24  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

the  humblest  parentage,  venturing  to  indulge  her 
curiosity  by  visiting  a  camp,  with  no  other  pro- 
tector than  her  own  innocence.  Her  entire 
ignorance  of  the  impropriety  of  the  step  she  had 
taken,  was  in  itself  interesting — so  artless  !  so  fear- 
less !  She  seemed  really  to  believe,  in  downright 
earnest,  that  men  were  her  fellow  creatures  and 
brethren,  and  not  wicked  knaves  lying  in  wait  to 
devour  helpless  women  ;  and  that  the  plumed  war- 
riors of  the  nation  were  bound  to  be  good  soldiers 
to  a  lady,  as  well  as  to  a  lord.  But  what  struck 
him  most,  was  the  native  intelligence,  vivacity,  and 
romantic  turn  of  mind,  which  gave  energy  and  ease 
to  the  language  and  manners  of  a  peasant  girl,  who 
had  received  nothing  from  the  hand  of  art.  She 
said  little,  but  her  soft  eye  was  lighted  up  with 
intelligence,  and  there  was  eloquence  in  every 
expression  of  her  delighted  features.  That  she  was 
uneducated,  and  unaccustomed  to  society,  was  very 
evident ;  but  her  manners  were  neither  bashful  nor 
vulgar — neither  polished  nor  forward, — they  had  a 
certain  natural  ease,  which  was  the  result  of  inno- 
cence and  self-respect.  Perhaps  the  excited  feel- 
ings of  that  evening,  banishing  ordinary  associations, 
and  giving  a  higher  tone  to  the  spirit,  added  an  air 
of  elevation  to  manners  naturally  chaste  and  simple. 
Be  all  this  as  it  may,  a  handsomer  or  happier  couple 
than  this,  has  seldom  been  seen  on  the  green  sward ; 
and  never  did  two  hearts  mingle  more  artlessly 
together. 


25 

Passing  at  length  in  the  rear  of  the  camp,  they 
came  in  front  of  the  guard-tent,  near  which  a  pri- 
soner, in  chains,  lay  extended  on  the  ground  guarded 
by  a  sentinel.  The  maiden  gazed  a  moment  upon 
the  unfortunate  man,  and  then,  in  a  tone  of  horror, 
exclaimed,  "  Oh  William  !  William  !  it  is  he !  it  is 
he  !"  The  prisoner,  whose  eyes  bad  been  cast  to 
the  ground  as  his  officer  approached,  raised  them 
on  hearing  this  exclamation,  and  displayed  a  youth- 
ful countenance,  pale  with  disease,  and  deeply 
marked  with  grief  and  shame.  An  expression  of 
anguish  sat  upon  his  face  ;  his  eyes  were  sunk,  his 
dark  locks,  long  and  tangled,  hung  over  his  wo- 
worn  features,  his  person  was  clad  in  miserable 
rags — and  his  whole  appearance  was  haggard,  and 
forlorn.  Without  moving  from  his  reclining  pos- 
ture, he  extended  one  hand  to  the  weeping  girl,  and 
with  the  other  shaded  his  pallid  features.  The 
maiden  had  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  him,  and 
as  the  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek,  she  seemed  like 
virtue  bending  to  intercede  for  crime.  For  a  few 
minutes  both  were  silent ;  and  the  officer,  respecting 
the  sacredness  of  their  feelings,  ordered  the  sentinel 
to  remove  a  short  distance,  and  was  himself  re- 
tiring when  he  was  overtaken  by  the  distracted  girl. 
In  a  few  words  she  had  learned  the  crime  and  the 
fate  of  the  hapless  youth.  He  had  forfeited  his  life 
by  desertion !  "  Save  him  !  Pardon  him !"  she  ex* 
claimed  in  frantic  accents,  as  she  threw  herself  at 
the  feet  of  the  officer,  "  Oh  !  pardon  him  for  mercy's 
3 


26  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

sake, — for  the  sake  of  his  poor  old  mother !"  It 
was  some  time  before  Pendleton  could  command 
himself  sufficiently  to  attempt  a  reply,  while  the 
agitated  girl  continued  to  reiterate  with  all  the 
heart-rending  energy  of  grief.  "  Oh  !  do — do — par- 
don him,  pardon  my  brother!"  At  last  he  suc- 
ceeded in  explaining  to  her,  that  he  possessed  no 
discretionary  power  over  the  fate  of  the  unhappy 
youth,  who  must  be  tried  by  a  court-martial,  and  if 
convicted  could  only  be  rescued  from  death,  by  the 
mercy  of  the  commanding  general. 

"Then,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  calmness  of  de- 
termined resolution,  "  I  will  go  to  him  !" 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Pendleton,  "  the  head-quar- 
ters of  the  army  are  at  Buffalo  the  distance  is 
more  than  a  hundred  miles — too  far  for  an  unpro- 
tected girl  to  venture." 

"What  have  I  to  fear?" 

"Every  thing— fatigue,  danger,  insult — evils 
which  you  are  too  young,  too  innocent,  to  dream 
of — too  weak  to  repel." 

"  An  orphan  girl,  seeking  to  save  a  brother's  life, 
and  to  rescue  the  gray  hairs  of  an  aged  widow  from 
sorrow,  will  find  support; — heaven  will  protect 
me!" 

"  It  cannot  be — it  must  not  be,"  said  Pendleton, 
uyou  have  neither  strength  to  endure  the  toils  of 
the  journey,  nor  courage  to  surmount  the  difficul- 
ties which  would  beset  your  path." 

M  Oh,  I  can  endure  a  great  deal,  for  those  I  love." 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  27 

"  Your  love  must  be  great,  and  your  faith  strong, 
if  they  could  bear  your  spirit  up  through  all  the 
perils  of  a  lonesome  road,  and  a  licentious  camp. 
Let  me  beseech  you  not  to  think  of  such  an  adven- 
ture." 

"  Ah  !  sir,"  replied  the  ardent  girl,  "  if  you  knew 
the  pious  mother  of  that  young  man — if  you  could 
hear  the  fervent  prayers  which  she  puts  up  daily 
and  almost  hourly  for  her  only  son,  the  darling  and 
stay  of  her  old  age,  you  would  not  think  any  peril 
too  great  that  could  bring  her  peace  and  comfort. 
Oh  !  1  will  do  any  thing — risk  any  thing  to  soothe 
the  bitterness  of  her  affliction  !" 

"  After  all,"  continued  the  officer,  "your  success 
will  be  doubtful.  It  is  uncertain  when  a  court- 
martial  will  sit ;  it  may  be  in  a  few  days,  or  it  may 
not  be  for  many  months ;  the  general  will  not  inter- 
pose his  authority  until  the  evidence  has  been  ex- 
amined,— and  at  last  he  may  not  grant  your  peti- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  he  must  grant  it,  he  surely  will — if  he  is  a 
merciful  man,  if  he  is  a  father,  he  cannot  refuse  it." 

14  He  is  a  father,  and  a  merciful  man,  and  I  think 
he  will  pardon  your  brother ;  but  he  is  a  soldier, 
true  to  his  duty,  and  rigid  in  his  discipline,  and 
may  think  it  improper  to  do  so.  You  must  remain 
with  your  mother  to  comfort  her ;  trust  to  me  the 
care  of  your  brother's  interest ;  I  will  be  his  advo- 
cate, and,  if  possible,  procure  his  pardon." 


28  .    THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

"Will  you  promise  that?1'  demanded  the  girl 
eagerly. 

"  I  promise  it  most  solemnly." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you  ;  I  knew  you  could  not 
be  so  hard-hearted  as  to  see  my  brother  perish." 

Pendleton  smiled  as  he  repressed  the  obvious 
compliment,  which  would  have  told  her  how  little 
generosity  it  required  to  become  the  advocate  of 
one  who  was  dear  to  her.  But  he  took  her  hand 
and  pressed  it,  as  she  added, 

"  As  you  hope  for  mercy,  remember  your  pro- 
mise." 

"1  will  both  remember,  and  perform  it  reli- 
giously." 

"  Then  I  will  trust  you,"  said  she,  "  farewell !" 

She  returned  to  the  forlorn  youth,  and  after  a 
few  minutes'  conversation,  retired.  Pendleton  would 
hape  accompanied  her  home,  as  the  evening  shades 
were  now  closing  in,  but  bounding  away  with  the 
fleetness  of  a  deer,  she  was  soon  lost  in  the  sur- 
rounding shades. 

Long  before  the  first  gray  streak  illumined  the 
horizon  on  the  following  morning,  our  little  camp 
was  awakened  by  the  inspiring  notes  of  the  reveille. 
Every  soldier  has  felt  the  charm  of  this  inspiring 
music.  Whether  it  be  that  the  tunes  adapted  to 
this  purpose  are  remarkably  sweet,  or  that  the  hour, 
when  all  else  is  still,  is  peculiarly  propitious,  or 
that  hearts  soothed  by  sleep,  and  minds  unoccu- 
pied by  thought,  are  more  open  to  the  reception  of 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  29 

agreeable  sensations,  it  is  certain  that  he  who  has 
once  heard  the  melodious  strains  which  usher  in 
the  military  day,  never  forgets  their  delightful  im- 
pression. Now  the  gladsome  notes  floated  over 
the  quiet  waters,  and  the  cheerful  echoes  enlivened 
the  surrounding  shores.  The  events  of  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  had  added  another  link  to  the  chain 
of  romantic  associations  in  the  mind  of  Pendleton; 
and  as  he  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  leaning  against 
a  tree,  upon  the  spot  where  he  had  parted  with  the 
fair  stranger,  he  felt  his  heart  softened  by  new  and 
peculiar  emotions. 

Another  interesting  feature  in  this  scene  was  the 
assembling  of  the  troops,  to  the  morning  roll-call. 
As  the  music  played  they  were  seen  creeping  un- 
willingly from  their  tents,  a  various  group,  some 
half-clad,  and  some  in  uniform.  Gradually  disposing 
themselves,  they  formed  a  line  in  front  of  the  en- 
campment, the  non-commissioned  officers  passing 
about,  or  posted  at  intervals,  with  lights,  which  shed 
a  glare  over  this  little  band,  while  every  surround- 
ing object  was  involved  in  gloom.  As  the  music 
ceased,  the  officer  advanced  to  superintend  the 
calling  of  the  roll ;  a  deep  silence  prevailed  during 
the  performance  of  this  duty,  and  at  its  conclusion 
the  orderly  sergeant  announced  that  the  men  were 
"  all  present."  Then  the  camp  fires  were  kindled, 
and  the  morning  meal  was  despatched  while  day- 
light yet  lingered  beyond  the  distant  hills. 

Orders  were  now  given  to  prepare  for  the  march. 
3* 


30  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

The  musicians,  traversing  the  encampment  with  a 
rapid  step,  cheerily  played  "  the  general ;"  a  merry 
march  to  which  a  yankee  poet  has  adapted  the 
homely  strain, 

»*  Don't  you  hear  the  gen'ral  say, 
Strike  your  tents  and  march  away ; 
All  the  way  to  Hackensack, 
Each  with  knapsack  at  his  back?" 

Activity  and  bustle  now  prevailed.  The  soldiers 
were  seen  packing  their  knapsacks  and  loading  the 
wagons.  Then  the  pins  which  distend  the  tents, 
and  confine  them  to  the  ground,  are  drawn  up,  the 
tent-poles  are  supported  by  the  hands  of  men  sta- 
tioned in  the  front  and  rear,  the  music  concludes 
with  a  long  ruffle,  and  as  the  last  stroke  falls  upon 
the  drum,  every  tent  sinks  at  the  same  instant,  and 
the  whole  encampment  disappears.  The  tents  and 
camp  equipage  are  loaded  in  the  wagons,  and  the 
soldiers,  now  in  full  uniform,  parade  with  arms. 
The  column  is  formed,  a  lively  march  strikes  up, 
and  the  party  moves  off  cheerfully,  to  commence 
the  toils  of  a  new  day. 

Arrived  at  the  head-quarters  of  the  army,  Pen- 
dleton  did  not  forget  his  promise.  William  Ben- 
son was  soon  brought  before  a  court-martial,  ar- 
raigned for  desertion,  and  pleaded  guilty.  In  vain 
Pendleton  advised  and  entreated  him  to  recall  the 
honest  confession — in  vain  the  president  of  the 
court  humanely  admonished  him  that  by  this  plea 
he  abandoned  all  defence,  and  sealed  his  own  doom. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  31 

Sullen  and  silent,  he  noticed  their  arguments  no 
further  than  to  repeat  the  fatal  plea.  But  his  gene- 
rous officer  did  not  abandon  him  to  his  fate.  Pre- 
senting himself  before  the  commanding  general,  he 
proved  by  incontestible  evidence  that  the  unhappy 
youth  was  a  minor,  who  had  been  entrapped  at  an 
unguarded  moment,  by  the  devices  of  an  artful  re- 
cruiting sergeant ;  and  then  frankly  related  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  had  become  interested  in  his  fate. 
This  eloquent  appeal  came  home  to  the  bosom  of 
the  brave  commander  in  chief,  who  not  only  par- 
doned the  culprit,  but  directed  his  immediate  dis- 
charge from  the  service. 

Language  is  too  feeble  to  describe  the  change 
produced  on  the  unhappy  youth  by  this  intelligence. 
He  had  wholly  resigned  himself  to  despair ;  grief 
and  shame  had  worn  him  down  to  a  mere  skeleton, 
and  the  almost  certain  decree,  which  doomed  him 
to  an  ignominious  death,  had  plunged  him  into  a  sul- 
len apathy.  To  part  with  life  was  painful,  but  its 
possession  had  become  a  burthen;  and  he  had  viewed 
all  the  proceedings  against  him  with  stupid  indiffer- 
ence. The  rapidity  with  which  his  fate  was  hurrying 
to  a  crisis,  left  no  time  for  that  gradual  process  by 
which  the  mind  is  inured  to  guilt,  and  hardened 
against  punishment  and  shame.  With  a  heart  still 
tenderly  awake  to  the  ardent  emotions  of  generous 
youth,  and  glowing  with  the  lively  hopes  and  fears 
of  that  sanguine  age,  the  rapid  transition  from  inno- 
cence to  sin,  from  sin  to  death,  filled  his  imagina- 


32  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

tion  with  horror;  and  his  mind  dwelled  upon  vivid 
images  of  pain  until  it  became  stupified  with  an- 
guish. He  had  nothing  to  sustain  him  in  his 
affliction — neither  the  soldier's  pride,  nor  the  Chris- 
tian's fortitude.  He  could  not  feel  the  former,  for 
he  had  deserted  his  country;  nor  the  latter,  for  he 
had  forsaken  his  God.  His  young  heart  clung  to 
the  world  whose  pleasures  it  had  just  begun  to 
taste — but  the  world  seemed  all  to  have  abandoned 
or  condemned  him.  Of  the  friends  of  his  youth, 
not  one  was  here — the  lips  that  used  to  pray  for 
him  seemed  silent — -few  pitied  and  none  consoled 
him  ;  he  was  surrounded  by  those  whose  profession 
taught  them  to  consider  his  crime  unpardonable, 
and  himself  a  degraded  poltroon,  part  traitor  and 
part  coward,  whose  very  presence  was  pollution. 
He  had  no  consolation  in  his  own  reflections,  for 
these  pictured  the  agony  of  a  widowed  mother, 
whom  he  had  abandoned — the  vices  of  a  brief  but 
wicked  life — the  pangs  of  a  public  and  shameful  exe- 
cution. 

But  when  the  news  came  that  the  forfeit  of  his 
crime  was  paid,  that  he  was  no  longer  a  disgraced, 
forsaken  man,  no  longer  a  condemned  malefactor, 
but  was  freed  at  once  from  guilt,  and  bondage,  and 
death,  his  heart  leaped  with  joy,  his  whole  frame 
swelled  with  gladness,  and  all  his  benumbed  facul- 
ties sprung  at  once  into  vigour.  The  world  was 
again  bright  and  glowing — his  crimes  and  his  mis- 
fortunes were  forgotten — his  latent  virtues  came 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  33 

into  action — and  the  fountains  of  joy  were  opened  in 
his  bosom,  pouring  streams  of  bliss  around  his  new- 
ly awakened  senses.  Gratitude  was  not  the  least 
vivid  of  his  pleasurable  sensations.  He  refused  to 
quit  his  benefactor ;  and  having  sent  the  glad  tidings 
of  his  release  to  his  aged  parent,  remained  with 
Pendletdn  as  a  volunteer,  determined  to  wipe  the 
stains  from  his  character  on  the  tield  of  battle. 

He  fought  by  the  side  of  his  young  commander 
on  the  field  of  Chippewa.  The  battle  took  place 
on  the  margin  of  the  Niagara  river,  on  an  extensive 
plain,  which  had  once  been  covered  with  fine 
farms,  but  now,  forsaken  by  its  inhabitants,  and  de- 
solated by  war,  it  exhibited  only  a  barren  waste. 
The  river  at  that  place  begins  to  acquire  some  of 
that  terrific  velocity,  with  which  it  rushes  over  the 
awful  precipice  three  miles  below,  creating  one  of 
the  greatest  natural  curiosities  in  existence;  the 
noise  of  the  cataract  is  he.ard,  and  the  column  of 
foam  distinctly  seen  from  the  battle  ground.  On 
the  other  side  the  field  is  bounded  by  a  thick  forest, 
but  the  plain  itself  presented  a  level  smooth  surface, 
unbroken  by  ravines,  and  without  a  tree  or  bush  to 
intercept  the  view,  or  an  obstacle  to  impede  the 
movements  of  the  hostile  bodies,  or  to  afford  to 
either  party  an  advantage.  From  this  plain  the 
American  camp  was  separated  by  a  small  creek. 
In  the  full  glare  of  a  summer  sun,  on  the  morning 
of  the  fifth  of  July,  the  British  troops  were  seen  ad- 
vancing towards  our  camp,  across  the  destined  tield 


34  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

of  strife,  their  waving  plumes,  their  scarlet  uniforms, 
and  gilded  ornaments,  exhibiting  a  gay  and  gorge- 
ous appearance — their  martial  music,  their  firm  and 
rapid  step,  indicating  elastic  hopes  and  high  cou- 
rage. The  Americans,  inferior  in  number,  were 
hastily  put  in  motion  to  meet  the  advancing  foe ; 
they  crossed  a  small  rude  bridge,  the  only  outlet 
from  the  camp  under  a  heavy  fire  of  the  enemy's 
artillery ;  and  moved  steadily  to  the  spot  selected 
for  the  hot  engagement.  The  scene  at  this  moment 
was  beautiful  and  imposing.  The  British  line, 
glowing  with  golden  and  crimson  hues,  was  stretch- 
ed across  the  plain,  flanked  by  pieces  of  brass  ord- 
nance, whose  rapid  discharge  spread  death  over  the 
field,  and  filled  the  air  with  thunder;  while  the 
clouds  of  smoke  enveloping  each  extremity  of  the 
line,  left  the  centre  only  exposed  to  the  eye,  and  ex- 
tending off  to  the  river  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
forest  on  the  other,  filled  the  whole  back  ground  of 
the  landscape.  The  Americans  were  advancing  in 
column.  They  were  new  recruits,  now  led  for  the 
first  time  into  action,  and  except  a  few  of  the  offi- 
cers, none  of  all  that  heroic  band  had  ever  before 
seen  the  banner  of  a  foe.  But  they  moved  steadily 
to  their  ground,  unbroken  by  the  galling  fire  :  and 
platoon  after  platoon  wheeled  into  line  with  the 
same  graceful  accuracy  of  movement  which  marks 
the  evolutions  of  the  holiday  parade,  until  the  whole 
column  was  deployed  into  one  extended  front;  the 
officers  carefully  dressing  the  line  with  technical 


33 

skill,  and  the  whole  brigade  evincing  by  its  deep  si- 
lence, and  the  faithful  precision  of  its  movements, 
the  subordination  of  strict  discipline,  and  the  steady 
coolness  of  determined  courage.  Now  the  musket- 
ry of  the  enemy  began  to  rattle,  pouring  bullets 
thick  as  hail  upon  our  ranks*  Still  not  a  trigger 
was  drawn,  not  a  voice  was  heard  on  our  side,  save 
the  quick  peremptory  tones  of  command.  General 
Scott  rode  along  the  line,  cheering  and  restraining 
his  troops : — then  passing  from  flank  to  flank  to  see 
that  all  was  as  he  wished,  he  wheeled  his  steed  into 
the  rear  of  the  troops  and  gave  the  command  to 
"  fire  I"  A  voice  was  immediately  heard  in  the 
British  ranks, — supposed  to  be  that  of  their  com- 
mander,— exclaiming,  "  charge  the  d — d  Yankees  ! 
charge  the  d — d  Buffalo  militia  !  charge !  charge  !" 
The  American  general  ordered  his  men  to  " support 
arms !"  The  British  rushed  forward  with  bayonets 
charged;  but  they  were  struck  with  amazement 
when  they  beheld  those  whom  their  commander  had 
tauntingly  called  militia,  standing  motionless  as  sta- 
tues :  their  muskets  erect,  their  arms  folded  across 
their  breasts,  gazing  calmly  at  the  hostile  ranks  ad- 
vancing furiously  with  levelled  bayonets  !  It  was  a 
refinement  of  discipline  rafely  exhibited,  and  here 
altogether  unexpected.  The  Americans  stood  un- 
til the  enemy  approached  within  a  few  paces: — un- 
til the  foemen  could  see  the  fire  flashing  from  each 
other's  eyes — and  each  could  read  the  expression 
of  his  adversary's  -face ;  then,  deliberately,  as  the 


36  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

word  was  given, the  Americans  levelled  their  pieces, 
and  fired, — and  the  whole  line  of  the  enemy 
seemed  annihilated !  Many  were  killed,  many 
wounded,  and  some,  rushing  madly  forward  with  a 
powerful  momentum,  fell  over  their  prostrate  com- 
panions, or  were  thrown  down  by  the  weight  of  suc- 
ceeding combatants.  In  one  instant  the  ground 
lately  occupied  by  that  gallant  line,  was  covered 
with  flying  Britons ;  in  another,  a  second  line  had 
advanced  to  sustain  the  contest,  while  the  broken 
fragments  of  the  first  were  rallied  behind  it.  The 
"  Buffalo  militia  "  were  now  the  assailants,  advan- 
cing with  charged  bayonets.  Then  it  was  that  the 
young  American  chiefs,  who  led  that  gallant  host, 
displayed  the  skill  of  veterans,  and  the  names  of 
Scott,  Jessup,  Leavenworth,  M'Niel,  and  Hindman, 
were  given  to  their  country  to  adorn  the  proudest 
page  of  its  history.  Five-and-thirty  minutes  de- 
cided the  contest,  and  the  retiring  foe  was  pursued, 
and  driven  to  his  fortress.  None  who  saw,  will  for- 
get the  terrific  beauty  of  that  scene — the  noble  ap- 
pearance of  the  troops — the  dreadful  precision  of 
every  movement — the  awful  fury  of  the  battle — its 
fatal  severity — its  brief  continuance — its  triumph- 
ant close ! 

As  the  victors  returned  from  the  pursuit  of  the 
retreating  enemy,  a  scene  of  intense  interest  was 
presented.  They  traversed  the  field  which  a  few 
minutes  before  had  sparkled  with  the  proud  equip- 
age of  war.  There  had  been  gallant  men  and  gay 


37 

uniforms  and  waving  banners ;  and  there  had  been 
drums,  and  trumpets,  and  the  wild  notes  of  the 
bugle,  stirring  the  soul  to  action.  There  had  been 
nodding  plumes  and  beating  hearts,  and  eyes  that 
gleamed  with  valour  and  ambition.  There  too  had 
been  impetuous  chiefs  emulous  of  fame,  dashing 
their  fiery  steeds  along  the  hostile  ranks ;  and  there 
had  been  all  the  spirit-stirring  sounds  and  sights, 
that  fill  the  eye,  and  the  ear,  and  the  heart  of  the 
young  warrior,  giving  more  than  the  poet's  fire  to 
his  entranced  imagination.  What  a  change  had  a 
few  brief  moments  produced  !  Now  the  field  was 
strewn  with  ghastly  heaps  of  bloody  and  disfigured 
forms ;  with  the  wounded,  the  mutilated,  and  the 
dying.  The  ear  was  filled  with  strange,  and  melan- 
choly, and  terrific  sounds  ;  the  shouts  of  victory  had 
given  place  to  groans  of  anguish,  the  complaints  of 
the  vanquished,  the  prayers  or  the  imprecations  of 
the  dying.  •  Here  was  one  who  called  on  heaven  to 
protect  his  children  ;  another  raved  of  a  bereaved 
wife ;  a  third  tenderly  aspirated  some  beloved  name, 
consecrated  only  by  that  tie  ; — while  others  depre- 
cated their  own  sufferings,  or  pleacfed  piteously  for 
the  pardon  of  their  sins.  Here  were  those  who 
prayed  ardently  for  death,  and  some  who  implored 
a  few  moments  more  of  life.  Complaints  of  bodily 
pain,  and  confessions  of  unrepented  crime  burst 
from  the  souls  of  many  in  heart-rending  accents ; 
while  some,  as  they  gazed  upon  the  fast  flowing 
crimson  torrent,  wasted  the  brief  remains  of  breath 
4 


38  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

in  moralising  upon  the  shortness  of  life,  and  man's 
careless  prodigality  of  existence.  Many  gallant 
spirits  there  were,  on  that  ensanguined  plain,  who 
prayed  silently ;  and  some  who  dared  not  pray,  and 
yet  scorned  to  murmur.  Their  compressed  lips 
bespoke  their  firmness ;  their  eyes  wandered  wildly 
and  wistfully  over  the  bright  scene  that  was  fading 
before  them,  and  they  grasped  fervently  .the  hands 
of  those  who  mournfully  bade  them  farewell.  Last 
of  all  were  seen  those,  in  whom  the  soldier's  en- 
thusiasm overpowered  every  other  sensation,  who 
smiled  at  pain,  and  welcomed  victory  even  in  death. 
The  actors  in  this  scene  seem  to  have  multiplied  ; 
for  those  who  had  occupied  but  a  small  space, 
when  marshalled  in  compact  bodies,  were  now 
scattered  widely  over  the  plain.  At  one  spot  was 
a  group  of  men,  at  another  a  heap  of  mutilated  bo- 
dies ;  all  around  were  broken  carriages,  and  the 
carcasses  of  men  and  horses.  The  distinctions  of 
rank  and  country  had  ceased  with  many.  The 
British  grenadier  and  the  American  rifleman  slept 
in  death  together ;  the  limbs  of  the  common  sentinel 
were  thrown  across  the  body  of  his  officer.  The 
soldier,  slightly  hurt,  supported  his  desperately 
wounded  enemy  ;  the  dying  Englishman  reclined 
his  head  upon  the  lap  of  the  bleeding  American  ; 
and  the  American  threw  his  exhausted  frame  into 
the  arms  of  the  vanquished  Briton.  Every  one  de- 
manded help  from  the  nearest  hand,  or  afforded  it 
where  it  seemed  most  necessary.  The  sullen  pride 


39 

of  the  vanquished ,  and  the  ready  courtesy  of  the 
victors,  alone  distinguished  their  deportment- 

"  What  wonderful  infatuation  !  What  a  paradox 
in  human  nature!"  exclaimed  Pendleton,  as  he 
surveyed  this  scene.  "  Strange,  that  men  with 
common  feelings,  with  humane  and  generous  pro- 
pensities, without  any  personal  animosity,  should  be 
arrayed  in  deadly  hostility  !  Equally  strange,  that 
in  a,  moment  they  should  forget  their  enmity,  in  the 
kindly  interchange  of  friendship  and  benevolence! 
Such  are  the  effects  of  national  ambition,  such  the 
fatal  consequences  of  war  !" 

Proud  as  our  young  soldier  felt  of  his  own  exer- 
tions he  viewed  the  field  of  battle  with  the  most 
painful  emotions.  His  were  the  generous  sensa- 
tions of  a  noble  mind,  which  could  not  gaze  un- 
moved at  human  misery;  time  could  never  have 
familiarized  his  heart  to  these  bloody  scenes  of 
death. 

But  it  was  his  fate  to  witness  again,  and  again, 
the  awful  splendour  of  the  battle.  He  was  present 
on  that  eventful  night,  when  the  thunders  of  war 
mingled  with  the  roar  of  the  mighty  cataract.  The 
battle  was  long  doubtful,  and  bloody.  The  Ameri- 
cans, opposed  to  superior  numbers,  fought  with 
desperate  perseverance ;  leader  after  leader  was 
carried  wounded  from  the  field,  or  fell  at  his  post ; 
and  our  little  army,  triumphant  at  last,  purchased 
victory  with  the  loss  of  half  its  force. 

Pendleton  shared  the  glory  of  the  siege  at  Fort 


40  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

Erie,  when  the  brave  garrisons  repelled  for  many 
weeks  the  unceasing  assaults  of  a  potent  army ; 
when  every  day  was  employed  in  warfare,  and  the 
repose  of  every  night  broken  by  the  roar  of  artil- 
lery. He  witnessed  the  horrors  of  that  night,  when 
the  foe,  with  imprecations  of  vengeance  and  vows 
of  extermination,  rushed  upon  our  ramparts,  deter- 
mined to  destroy  or  perish.  He  saw  the  effects  of 
that  tremendous  explosion  which  filled  the  air  with 
fragments  of  human  forms,  with  lightning  glare 
illuming  the  lake,  the  ramparts,  the  forest,  and  the 
plain  : — and  in  short  he. shared  the  dangers  and  the 
honour  of  the  brilliant  campaign  of  1814,  in  which 
four  successful  battles  were  fought  with  a  foe  of 
superior  force,  and  not  a  single  reverse  experienced. 
Our  young  soldier  had  now  seen  the  world,  and 
he  had  gained  distinction.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
war  he  resigned  his  commission,  and  returned  to 
his  friends,  bearing  with  him  a  severe  wound,  the 
witness  of  his  services.  He  was  received  with  open 
arms.  Banquets  were  made  in  honour  of  his  ar- 
rival. The  gentlemen  were  prodigal  of  their  wel- 
come and  their  wine ;  the  ladies  were  equally 
generous  in  tea  and  compliments.  Many  a  lovely 
cheek  glowed  in  his  presence.  True,  the  church 
bells  did  not  ring — no  splendid  sword  solicited  his 
acceptance — nor  did  any  public  body  notice  the 
prowess  of  a  subaltern ;  but  in  that  little  circle 
dearer  to  him  than  all  the  world,  his  laurels  bloom- 
ed as  freshly  as  those  which  decked  his  general's 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  41 

brow ;  and  the  young  ladies  who  had  paraded  the 
streets  for  weeks  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Brown  or 
Scott,  were  satisfied  with  having  seen  Captain  Pen- 
dleton,  who,  though  not  so  celebrated,  was  younger 
and  handsomer,  and  withal,  had  fought  as  desper- 
ately as  either  of  those  distinguished  chieftains. 
Invited,  flattered,  and  admired,  the  heart  of  the 
young  soldier  swelled  with  pleasure,  and  he  felt 
that  he  had  not  lived  in  vain. 

But  this  could  not  last  for  ever.  It  soon  became 
necessary  for  Pendleton  to  choose  another  profes- 
sion ;  for  happily,  in  our  country,  few  men  are  will- 
ing, and  still  fewer  are  able,  to  live  in  idleness.  He 
chose  the  law ;  but  it  was  long  before  his  military 
habits  could  be  changed  for  the  labourof  severe  study, 
and  the  quiet  of  civil  pursuits.  The  martial  life  is 
full  of  interest :  its  changes  are  numerous  and  ab- 
rupt ;  it  affords  many  pleasures,  it  excites  proud  and 
lofty  emotions ;  it  enlivens,  ennobles,  and  awakens 
the  soul  with  generous  feelings  and  novel  associa- 
tions ;  its  honours,  its  dangers,  its  hardships,  its  pri- 
vations, arouse  the  highest  energies  of  manhood, 
and  elevate  the  mind  with  the  consciousness  of 
meritorious  achievement.  Even  its  hours  of  repose 
are  filled  with  engagements  that  refine,  and  hopes 
that  elevate.  It  has  little  to  do  with  what  we  call 
the  business  of  life;  the  affections  are  not  blunted, 
nor  the  mind  degraded,  with  the  selfish  views,  the 
servile  employments,  the  sordid  speculations,  of 
worldly  men.  The  heart  and  the  imagination  enter 


42  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

into  all  the  occupations  of  the  soldier.  It  is  a 
career  full  of  interest  to  the  young  mind ;  and  they 
who  have  entered  into  the  magic  circle  of  its  en- 
chantments, imbibed  its  ardour,  felt  its  vicissitudes, 
and  achieved  its  laurels,  return  with  an  almost  in- 
vincible reluctance  to  the  sober  pursuits  of  common 
life.  Pendleton  felt  continually  the  absence  of 
those  inspiring  emotions,  those  high  hopes,  and  gay 
dreams,  that  had  kept  his  soul  continually  soaring 
above  mortality.  His  delicacy  shrunk  from  the 
collision  of  grovelling  ideas  and  gross  employments ; 
and  his  thoughts  often  revelled  in  visions  of  "  the 
plumed  troop  and  the  big  wars."  Among  these 
day -dreams,  the  adventure  of  the  peasant  girl  was 
not  forgotten.  It  was  a  green  spot  upon  his  memo- 
ry— a  delightful  subject  of  reflection.  The  beauty, 
the  innocence,  the  courage  of  that  lovely  maiden, 
were  deeply  imprinted  on  his  heart,  and  he  often 
wished  she  had  been  born  in  a  higher  station. 

Three  years  had  now  rolled  away  since  the  oc- 
currence of  the  events  described  in  the  commence- 
ment of  this  tale.  Pendleton's  wound,  which  had 
but  lately  healed,  and  his  confinement  at  a  seden- 
tary occupation,  had  produced  a  delicate  state  of 
health,  which  rendered  his  studies  irksome  and  in- 
jurious ;  and  he  resolved  to  try  the  fashionable 
remedy  for  all  complaints,  fresh  air  and  exercise. 
His  dissipated  senses  had  scarcely  recovered  from 
the  exhilarating  effects  of  the  scenes  and  feelings 
which  I  have  described,  and  his  mind  became 


43 

again  filled  with  romantic  reflections,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded on  his  journey.  Blackstone  and  Coke 
were  in  his  head ;  but  his  heart  was  occupied  with 
banners  and  bugles,  and  lakes  and  hills,  and  blue 
eyes  and  rosy  lips.  With  these  sensations  he  re- 
traced his  former  steps.  His  eye  wandered  with 
new  delight  over  the  precipitous  shores  of  the 
Hudson,  he  participated  in  the  amusements  of 
Ballston  and  Saratoga,  arid  lingered  with  mournful 
pleasure  along  the  banks  of  the  Ontario.  He  revi- 
sited the  scenes  of  warlike  contention,  and  the 
graves  of  his  former  companions.  He  gazed  with 
fresh  emotion  on  the  stupendous  cataract,  and 
strolled  over  the  dilapidated  ramparts  of  Fort  Erie, 
mingling  with  the  gay  and  fashionable  tourists  who 
now  lounged  in  safety  over  the  spots  which  he  had 
seen  peopled  with  a  military  array.  He  beheld 
industrious  husbandmen,  smiling  cottages,  and  rich 
harvests,  where  he  had  seen  a  depopulated  waste, 
and  desolating  armies.  The  change  from  smoking 
ruins,  and  deserted  fields,  to  the  delightful  scenes 
of  rural  industry,  was  too  enchanting  not  to  pro- 
duce a  deep  impression,  and  he  turned  his  steps 
homeward  with  chastened  feelings,  and  a  mind 
glowing  with  virtuous  resolutions.  Convinced  that 
true  glory  may  be  attained  in  the  bosom  of  a 
peaceful  community,  and  that  true  happiness  exists 
only  in  the  domestic  circle,  he  resolved  to  seek 
tranquillity  in  the  practice  of  usefulness  and  virtue. 
Why  was  it  that  Pendleton,  during  a  few  days 


44 

that  he  spent  in  New  York,  at  the  commencement 
of  his  tour,  had  eagerly  solicited  his  friends  to  pro- 
cure him  letters  to  persons  residing  at  B —  al- 
though he  took  no  other  letters,  and  in  his  wander- 
ings rather  avoided  than  sought  society  ?  Why,  hav- 
ing procured  these  important  credentials,  did  he  take 
a  different  route,  loitering  at  various  points  of  inte- 
rest, and  only  touching  at  B —  on  his  return? 
And  why  did  he  then  keep  those  letters  in  his  poc- 
ket, and  shrink  from  society  more  sedulously  than 
before  ?  "  The  young  gentleman  was  in  love,"  says 
a  fair  reader.  Perhaps  so,  but  remember,  ma- 
dam, I  do  not  assert  it.  As  a  faithful  historian,  I 
am  bound  only  to  relate  facts,  leaving  it  to  philoso- 
phers and  young  ladies,  who  are  versed  in  such 
matters,  to  reconcile  these  seeming  contradictions. 
B —  was  the  same  village  in  whose  vicinity  Pen- 
dleton  had  met  the  blue-eyed  sister  of  William 
Benson.  Established  at  the  inn,  he  wandered 
about  the  neighbourhood,  without  any  settled  pur- 
pose, and  with  feelings  which  were,  perhaps,  im- 
perfectly developed  to  himself.  The  villagers 
wondered  who  this  silent  stranger  could  be,  who 
did  nothing  but  draw  pictures,  and  play  on  the 
flute,  and  stroll  over  the  hills.  Some  thought  he 
was  an  engineer,  sent  to  trace  the  route  of  the  new 
canal ;  others  believed  him  to  be  a  British  spy,  and 
a  few  insisted  that  he  was  an  emissary,  employed 
in  some  mighty  political  conspiracy.  Their  curio- 
sity and  suspicion  became  troublesome,  and  it  was 


45 

to  quiet  these,  that  Pendleton  one  day  presented  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Sandford,  an  opulent 
gentleman  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  accidentally 
dined,  on  some  public  occasion,  at  the  inn  where 
he  lodged.  Mr.  Sandford  received  him  with  great 
cordiality,  kindly  reproached  him  for  having  so 
long  concealed  himself,  and  insisted  on  Pcndleton's 
becoming  his  guest,  during  the  remainder  of  his 
stay  in  that  country.  This  our  young  officer  de* 
clined,  but  accepted  an  invitation  to  dinner  on  the 
ensuing  day. 

One  of  Pendleton's  amusements  had  been  to  row 
a  light  skiff  over  the  beautiful  lake  which  I  have 
described,  fts  waters  were  clear  as  crystal,  and 
the  smooth  sheet,  though  narrow,  was  several  miles 
in  length — shaded  with  forests,  and  encircled  with 
hills,  which  sometimes  pushed  their  bold  promon- 
tories far  into  the  limpid  tide,  and  then  receding, 
allowed  the  water  to  extend  its  bays  deep  into  the 
forest.  Pendleton  became  enamoured  of  these 
solitudes,  where  he  roved  unseen  and  undisturbed ; 
and  every  day  saw  his  little  bark  gliding  over  the 
glassy  surface.  Sometimes  he  caught  fish  and 
threw  them  back  into  the  water,  and  often,  in  the 
secluded  recess  of  a  bay  or  inlet,  he  played  upon 
his  flute,  and  listened  to  its  echoes.  There  was 
one  spot  which  particularly  attracted  his  attention. 
It  was  a  place  where  the  towering  hill  seemed  to 
have  been  reft  asunder  by  some  convulsion  of  na- 
ture, opening  a  deep  gulf  through  which  the 


46  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

waters  flowed  into  an  irregular  basin  surrounded 
with  rocks,  and  overhung  with  precipices.  Trees 
and  bushes  springing  from  the  crevices  covered  the 
rocks  with  verdure,  partly  concealing  their  abrupt 
projections,  and  casting  on  the  silent  water  below 
a  deep  shade. 

One  afternoon  Pendleton  drew  out  his  pencil, 
and  attempted  to  sketch  the  features  of  this  lonely 
spot.  He  sat  in  his  boat,  which  was  moored  near 
the  entrance  of  the  recess,  and  was  looking  ear- 
nestly on  the  precipice  opposite  to  him,  when  a 
female  form  issued  from  behind  a  projecting  rock, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  verge.  Soon  as 
her  eye  fell  on  the  enraptured  artist,  whose  gaze 
was  rivetted  ardently  upon  her,  she  fled.  Pendle- 
ton remained  immoveable  with  surprise,  his  fasci- 
nated glance  fixed  upon  the  spot  from  which  the 
apparition  had  disappeared ; — for  in  that  fleeting 
vision  he  recognised  the  long  lost,  long  cherished 
form  of  Benson's  sister !  He  soon  recovered  his 
self-possession,  and  pursued  the  lovely  fugitive,  but 
after  diligently  exploring  the  rocks  and  bushes  for 
hours,  returned  without  having  found  the  least 
trace  of  a  footstep.  Pendleton  began  to  inquire 
seriously  whether  his  fancy  had  not  deceived  him. 
The  features  of  that  lovely  girl  were  deeply  en- 
graven on  his  heart ;  her  form  was  often  present  in 
his  sleeping  and  his  waking  dreams,  and  now,  when 
his  imagination  was  heated  in  the  attempt  to  por- 
tray a  wild  landscape,  and  the  "  poet's  eye  in  a  fine 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  47 

frenzy  rolling"  over  an  enchanted  scene,  the  imagi- 
nary image  of  one  fondly  recollected  might  indeed 
have  intruded  into  the  picture.  Such  was  Pendle- 
ton's  conclusion  as  he  resumed  his  oars  and  returned 
homeward  over  the  silent  waters. 

This  incident  occurred  a  few  days  previous  to 
his  introduction  to  Mr.  Sandford,  and  might  have 
strengthened  the  desire  he  now  felt  to  mingle  in 
society.  More  than  once  he  had  remarked  the 
romantic  beauty  of  Mr.  Sandford's  residence  on  the 
shore  of  the  lake.  The  house  was  small,  but  ele- 
gant, surrounded  by  a  lawn,  which  extended  to  the 
water's  edge,  shaded  with  tall  trees,  and  embowered 
in  shrubbery.  The  gardens  and  all  the  grounds  dis- 
played a  refined  taste.  Once  or  twice,  when  his 
little  voyages  had  been  delayed  until  a  later  hour 
than  ordinary  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  moonlight  scene, 
he  had  poised  his  oars  to  listen  to  the  tones  of  a 
piano,  and  the  dulcet  strains  of  a  female  voice,  is- 
suing from  that  lonely  dwelling.  All  these  circum- 
stances were  so  much  in  unison  with  the  feelings  of 
Pendleton,  that  he  went  to  Mr.  Sandford's,  elated 
with  pleasing  anticipation.  This  will  be  the  more 
readily  believed  when  it  is  added  that  the  mansion 
of  Sandford  was  near  to  that  fairy  alcove  where 
he  had  seen  the  apparition  of  the  fair  rustic. 

His  reception  was  quite  as  agreeable  as  he  had 
expected.  The  house,  the  furniture,  and  the  library, 
with  every  appearance  of  opulence,  afforded  evi- 
dence also  of  taste  and  liberality;  Sandford  was 


48  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

sensible  and  polite,  and  his  fair  daughter  was  a 
beautiful  and  accomplished  woman.  The  beauty 
of  this  interesting  female  formed  but  a  small  part  of 
her  loveliness  ;  her  manners  were  engaging,  her 
voice  musical,  her  conversation  sensible  and  easy — 
but  when  she  sung  there  was  a  fascination  in  the 
soft  fire  of  her  eye.  a  melody  in  her  voice,  a  feeling 
gracefulness  in  her  expression,  which  added  new 
charms  to  the  poet's  happiest  thought.  Pendleton 
gazed  upon  the  bright  vision  with  a  pleasure  so  in- 
tense that  it  became  almost  painful.  It  was  not 
alone  because  this  lovely  woman  was  young,  and 
fair,  and  blooming — that  her  voice  was  music,  and 
her  eye  poetry,  and  her  step  grace, — nor  because 
she  was  surrounded  by  roses  and  honeysuckles,  and 
all  "the  blest  charms  of  nature" — nor  yet,  that  his 
own  heart  was  softened  into  the  proper  mood  to 
receive  the  tender  impression :  all  these  things  con- 
spired to  entrance  the  senses  of  our  hero — but  there 
was  a  cause  paramount  to  all  these  which  fixed  his 
enchanted  gaze,  and  made  his  heart  palpitate  with 
tremulous  delight.  In  this  accomplished  woman  he 
discovered  a  striking  likeness  to  the  peasant  girl 
whose  image  he  had  so  long  treasured  in  his  bosom ! 
Perplexed  with  a  coincidence  so  wonderful,  he  re- 
turned to  his  lodgings  that  night,  with  a  heart  bur- 
thened  with  anxious  thought. 

Scarcely  a  day  now  passed  which  did  not  find 
our  hero  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Sandford,  and  his  visits 
seemed  to  be  as  acceptable  as  they  were  frequent. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  49 

Louisa's  smiles  continued  as  bright,  and  Sandford's 
welcome  as  cordial  as  at  first.  Young  hearts  soon 
mingle  together  ;  youth  has  none  of  that  repulsive 
coldness  which  makes  confidence  the  growth  of 
long  acquaintance.  There  are  certain  affinities  in 
human  bosoms,  certain  influences  which  seem  to 
operate  imperceptibly  by  attraction,  as  the  magnet 
impels  the  metal,  and  draws  kindred  spirits  into 
contact  and  communion.  The  hearts  of  Pendleton 
and  Louisa  mingled  as  kindly  as  portions  of  the 
same  element.  They  sang  and  played  together,  or 
strolled  about  the  green  lawn,  or  sat  under  a  large 
elm  which  threw  its  branches  over  the  surface  of 
the  lake.  Sandford  often  joined  them,  and  if  he 
saw,  he  did  not  disapprove,  their  growing  predilec- 
tion. Whatever  might  have  been  formerly  the  case, 
Pendleton  was  now  certainly  in  love ;  and  he  en- 
joyed the  emotions  of  that  delightful  passion  with- 
out alloy.  Still  the  likeness  which  he  had  observed 
at  his  first  visit,  haunted  his  imagination,  and  as  he 
studied  every  accent  and  movement  of  Louisa  Sand- 
ford,  the  peasant  girl  often  recurred  to  him.  Some- 
times a  tone  of  her  voice  would  strike  some  chord 
of  his  heart,  and  awaken  a  thrilling  sensation,  and 
sometimes  a  gesture  recalled  so  vividly  the  graceful 
attitudes  of  Benson's  sister,  that  Pendleton  could 
scarcely  contain  his  emotions. 

"  And  pray  why  did  not  the  love-sick  gentle- 
man make  some  enquiry  after  the  fair  incognita  ? 
Here  he  has  been  lounging  about  a  village  inn,  or 
5 


50  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

sauntering  over  the  country  for  weeks,  without 
using  any  exertions  to  discover  his  lady  love— and 
now  he  is  hanging  over  Miss  Sandford's  piano,  dis- 
tracted with  doubt,  when,  by  putting  a  simple  ques- 
tion to  her,  he  might  at  once  remove  his  uncer- 
tainty ?" 

My  dear  madam,  1  could  give  you  a  score  of  good 
substantial  reasons,  in  support  of  the  conduct  of  my 
young  friend ;  but  I  am  happily  relieved  from  the 
necessity  of  offering  any  by  the  fact  which  has  just 
been  developed,  that  he  was  in  love,  which  ac- 
counts for  all  inconsistencies.  Had  Captain  Pen- 
dleton  pursued  the  course  which  you  have  sug- 
gested, he  would  have  acted  with  what  the  law 
calls  "  ordinary  prudence ;"  but  then,  madam,  he 
would  have  behaved  very  unlike  a  lover,  whose 
duty  it  is  to  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  his  heroine's 
character  and  circumstances  by  the  most  circuitous 
methods,  remaining  long  ignorant  of  what  is  known 
to  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  opening  his  eyes 
to  full  conviction  only  in  the  blessed  state  of 
matrimony.  Besides,  had  he  gone  soberly  in  pur- 
suit of  his  love  as  a  gentleman  seeks  a  lost  spaniel, 
or  sought  information  at  every  door,  as  a  yankee 
pedlar  hunts  for  old  iron — he  should  never  have 
been  hero  of  mine;  for  not  only  would  his  conduct 
have  been  most  wn-heroical,  but  his  search  would 
in  all  probability  have  been  successful,  and  this 
tale  would  never  have  been  written.  But  more- 
over the  very  consummation  which  1  have  just 


THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE.  51 

hinted  at,  success,  startled  the  sensitive  mind  of 
Pendleton.  His  fancy  had  so  long  cherished  a  de- 
lightful vision,  that  he  shrunk  instinctively  from  a 
developement  which  might  dissolve  the  airy  fabric. 
Three  years  might  have  made  a  vast  change  in  the 
fate  of  this  fair  girl.  She  might  be  dead,  or,  dread- 
ful thought !  she  might  be  married  !  He  might  find 
her  digging  potatoes,  or  driving  a  cart,  or  rocking  a 
cradle  !  Some  great  clodhopper  might  have  sipped 
the  nectar  from  those  rosy  lips,  which  would  have 
charmed  an  anchorite  ;  he  might  find  her  blowing 
the  bellows  of  a  grim  blacksmith,  or  waxing  the 
ends  of  a  jolly  shoemaker's  thread  !  Besides,  he  was 
not  only  a  modest  man,  but  possessed  a  mind  of 
refined  delicacy,  which  suggested  that  Benson's 
mother  might  think  he  came  to  claim  her  thanks,  or 
his  sister  might  imagine  he  sought  a  reward,  for  the 
service  he  had  rendered  the  friendless  youth.  In 
short,  I  could  recount  a  thousand  ingenuous  feelings 
which  operated  to  produce  indecision  ;  but  as  nine 
tenths  of  my  readers  would  pronounce  them  non- 
sensical, and  they  will  readily  suggest  themselves  to 
the  other  tenth,  I  shall  pass  them  over. 

But  more  than  all  was  he  perplexed  by  the  like- 
ness between  the  sister  of  Benson,  and  the  daughter 
of  Sandford.  His  heart  often  whispered  that  they 
were  the  same.  But  how  could  that  be  ?  The  one 
a  poor  girl,  clad  in  homespun,  the  daughter  of  a 
widow,  the  sister  of  a  common  soldier ;  the  other 
an  elegant  woman,  the  only  and  the  darling  child  of 


52  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

a  man  of  fortune  and  education.  He  felt  reluctant 
to  dissolve  an  illusion  which  identified  these  two 
dearly  cherished  objects  ;  but  he  became  satisfied 
at  last,  though  the  one  had  long  animated  his  fancy, 
it  was  the  other  who  now  warmed  his  heart. 

One  day  as  they  sat  together,  Pendleton,  resolv- 
ing to  solve  the  riddle  which  perplexed  him,  took 
from  his  pocket-book  a  miniature  of  the  fair  rustic 
which  he  had  drawn  from  memory,  and  presented 
it  to  Louisa.  A  beam  of  joy  suffused  her  face,  as 
she  caught  a  first  glimpse  of  the  features  of  the  por- 
trait, which  was  changed  to  astonishment  as  her  eye 
fell  upon  the  dress.  She  cast  an  embarrassed 
glance  at  Pendleton,  and  again  viewed  the  picture 
with  tremulous  confusion.  For  a  few  minutes 
both  were  silent — it  was  an  interval  such  as  many 
lovers  have  known,  in  which  a  single  glance  speaks 
volumes  in  a  single  moment — and  the  secret  thoughts 
of  the  heart  bursting  forth  from  the  eyes,  the  cheeks, 
and  the  lips,  are  eloquent  in  every  feature — when 
the  most  interesting  of  all  questions  is  asked  and 
answered  in  timid  looks,  the  doubts  of  years  re- 
moved, arid  the  blissful  arrangements  made  for  a 
life  of  happiness,  by  the  silent  language  of  the  eye. 
That  moment  has  fled  with  the  rapidity  of  thought, 
and  the  lovers  remain  abashed  with  the  delightful 
truth  which  has  flashed  upon  them,  the  maiden 
covered  with  conscious  blushes,  and  the  youth 
gazing  with  unrestrained  rapture  at  his  bright  con- 
quest ! 


53 

At  length,  to  dispel  an  embarrassment  which  was 
becoming  irksome,  Pendleton  said,  "  1  will  relate 
the  history  of  that  portrait — it  is  the  memorial  of  a 
Jirstlove,  and  displays  the  features  of  one  who  has 
long  possessed  my  affections."  Then  assuming  a 
mock  heroic  air,  and  a  gay  tone,  he  proceeded : 
"  You  must  know  that  once  upon  a  time,  when  I  was 
a  young  officer,  and  wore  a  fine  uniform,  and  had  a 
tall  white  feather  in  my  hat,  I  marched  at  the  head 
of  my  company,  one  fine  summer's  evening,  through 
a  pretty  little  village  like  that  beyond  the  water, 
and  encamped  by  a  beautiful  lake  like  that  before 
us,  and  a  lovely  little  girl  in  a  homespun  cotton 
frock  and  a  white  muslin  sun-bonnet,  with  the 
sweetest  blue  eyes  in  the  world,  exactly  like — yours 
—came  to  the  camp  to  see  me — " 

"  Oh  no  !  no  ! — not  to  see  you!" 

"  Well,  well — 1  took  the  visit  to  myself,  escorted 
her  round  my  camp,  fell  in  love  with  her, — and — 
drew  her  picture ;  or  rather  she  left  her  own  picture 
on  my  heart,  from  whence  I  took  this  copy." 

"  And  what  then  ?"  enquired  Louisa,  timidly  as- 
suming a  little  of  the  archness  of  her  lover. 

"  Why  then,  like  a  silly  swain,  I  dreamed  of  her 
for  three  years." 

"  And  then  like  an  inconstant  swain,  forgot  her!" 

"  No  !  no !  forget  her  1  shall  never — I  came  to 
B —  to  seek  her,  and  I  trust  i  have  found  her  here ; 
my  eyes  have  long  been  deceived,  but  my  heart  can- 
not be  mistaken ;  you  are — you  must  be  she  !" 
5* 


54  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

"  Nay — "  said  Louisa,  as  he  would  have  taken  her 
hand,  "  if  this  portrait  exhibits  the  likeness  of  your 
beloved,  you  must  seek  her  in  the  cottage  of  Mrs. 
Benson." 

"  Mrs.  Benson  !  surely  I  did  not  mention  that 
name !" 

"Then  I  have  betrayed  myself!"  said  Louisa; 
and  she  turned  to  fly,  when  the  tete-a-tete  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  approach  of  Mr.  Sandford. 

The  embarrassed  maid  soon  retired,  leaving  the 
gentlemen  together,  and  Pendleton,  full  of  the  sub- 
ject, opened  his  whole  heart  to  Mr.  Sandford,  dis- 
closing all  the  particulars  which  I  have  narrated. 
That  gentleman  listened  with  emotion,  and  then 
replied,  "  Your  confidence  demands  equal  frankness 
from  me.  I  will  at  once  explain  the  riddle  which 
has  perplexed  you.  After  the  death  of  Louisa's 
mother,  I  unguardedly  contracted  another  marriage 
which  proved  unfortunate.  Louisa,  then  a  mere 
child,  was  treated  unkindly  by  her  step-mother,  who 
prevailed  upon  me  to  remove  to  the  city  of  New 
York,  leaving  my  daughter  to  the  care  of  Mrs. 
Benson,  who  had  long  been  a  domestic  in  my 
family,  and  whose  husband  was  the  manager  of  my 
farm.  To  them  1  entrusted  this  mansion  and  all 
my  affairs  here.  I  engaged  in  commercial  specula- 
tions, and  in  the  dissipations  of  a  city  life,  I  am 
mortified  to  acknowledge  that  1  neglected  and  al- 
most forgot  my  daughter.  My  only  excuse  is,  that 
I  was  confident  she  was  in  the  hands  of  kind  and 


55 

worthy  people ;  but  I  did  not  know  that  she  was 
clad  like  a  rustic,  and  permitted  to  run  wild  over 
the  country.  Mrs.  Benson,  however,  though  too  in- 
dulgent, was  a  pious  and  sensible  woman,  and 
reared  Louisa  with  sound  principles,  upon  which  1 
have  since  been  able  to  engraft  an  excellent  educa- 
tion. When  I  became  a  widower  a  second  time,  I 
returned  to  my  farm,  and  found  Louisa,  shortly 
after  you  saw  her,  a  wild' rustic.  She  had  originally 
a  fine  mind,  and  having  had  access  to  my  library,  it 
was  not  altogether  unimproved,  and  since  that  time 
1  have  spared  neither  pains  or  expense  in  her  edu- 
cation. During  the  war  Benson  died,  and  his  son 
ran  off  and  enlisted.  Mrs.  Benson  was  deeply 
afflicted  by  this  event,  and  Louisa,  who  felt  a  filial 
tenderness  for  her,  and  regarded  William  as  a  bro- 
ther, strove  all  in  her  power  to  comfort  the  wretched 
parent.  She  happened  to  be  in  the  village  when 
your  company  passed  through,  and  was  impelled  by 
strong  love  for  her  old  nurse,  to  visit  the  camp 
under  the  vague  hope  that  William  might  be  there. 
You  know  the  rest — and  you  will  not  think  it 
strange,  considering  her  extreme  youth,  that  her 
ardent  feelings  prompted  her  to  be  forward  in  the 
service  of  those  who  were  justly  so  dear  to  her. 
Your  name  was  of  course  known  to  us,  from  having 
heard  it  often  mentioned  by  William  Benson,  who 
rents  a  small  farm  from  me,  and  at  your  first  visit 
we  more  than  suspected  that  you  were  the  same 
person  of  whom  we  had  heard  so  much ;  Louisa 


56  THE  SOLDIER'S  BRIDE. 

was  quite  abashed  with  the  recollection  of  her  visit 
to  your  camp,  but  believing  that  you  did  not  re- 
cognise her,  she  begged  me  to  keep  the  secret." 

"  There  is  no  reason,"  exclaimed  Pendleton, 
"why  Miss  Sandford  should  wish  to  conceal  a  cir- 
cumstance which  does  her  so  much  honour." 

"  Oh,  1  have  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Sandford, 
smiling,  "  that  both  of  you  have  acted  up  to  the 
most  approved  canon  of  romance,  and  that  you  de- 
serve the  credit  of  having  done  what  few  others 
would  do  in  the  same  situations." 

"  There  are  few,"  replied  the  lover,  "  who  are 
capable  of  imitating  the  example  of  Miss  Sandford  ; 
my  highest  ambition  is  to  possess  the  hand  of  one  so 
highly  gifted." 

"You  will  have  to  ask  her  for  it,  then,"  said  the 
gratified  parent,  "you  have  had  my  consent  for 
some  time,  and  I  know  you  are  too  good  a  soldier  to 
ask  any  assistance  in  gaining  hers." 

I  need  not  draw  the  veil  from  the  happy  scene 
that  ensued.  They  were  seen  that  evening  gliding 
arm  in  arm  among  Louisa's  jessamine  bowers,  their 
cheeks  shaming  the  rose,  and  their  eyes  dancing 
with  pleasure;  but  as  they  never  told  me  what 
passed,  I  must  leave  the  reader  in  the  same  ignorance 
in  which  I  find  myself.  They  were  married.  Among 
the  happy  faces  which  appeared  at  their  wedding, 
none  were  decked  with  brighter  smiles  than  those 
of  William  Benson  and  his  widowed  mother ;  and 
among  the  joyful  hearts,  none  were  more  truly 
happy  than  the  gallant  officer  and  his  lovely  bride. 


57 


MY  COUSIN  LUCY 
AND  THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER, 


It  has  been  well  said,  that  memory  never  loses 
an  impression  that  has  once  been  made  upon  it. 
The  lines  may  be  obscured  for  a  time,  as  an  in- 
scription is  defaced  by  rust,  but  they  are  never 
obliterated  ;  they  may  be  buried  under  a  crowd  of 
other  recollections,  but  there  are  times  when  these 
roll  away,  as  the  mist  rises  from  the  valley,  and  the 
whole  picture  stands  disclosed,  in  its  original  integ- 
rity. Impressions  made  in  childhood  are  the  most 
vivid  :  years  may  pass,  and  other  remembrances  be 
gathered  in,  but  those  that  lie  deepest  are  longest 
retained,  and  most  fondly  cherished.  Other  events 
touch  the  heart  and  pass  off  without  leaving  a  trace, 
but  these  strike  in,  engraft  themselves,  and  become 
a  part  of  our  nature.  Such,  at  least,  has  been  my 
experience.  I  have  lived  a  busy,  and  I  trust  not  an 
useless  life ;  I  have  seen  much  of  the  world  ;  my 
feelings  and  passions  have  been  excited,  and  my  at- 
tention powerfully  fixed,  by  events  of  deep  interest; 
but  none  stand  recorded  in  the  same  bold,  indelible 


58  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

characters  which  mark  some  of  the  remembrances 
of  my  childhood. 

Not  far  from  my  father's  residence  there  was  a 
schoolhouse.  It  was  a  small  log  building,  such  as 
we  often  see  in  new  countries,  and  stood  in  a  grove, 
on  an  eminence  near  the  road.  Whether  chance, 
or  taste,  or  convenience  dictated  the  choice  of  the 
spot,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  it  always  struck  me  as  be- 
ing not  only  well  adapted  to  its  purpose,  but  re- 
markably picturesque.  The  grove  contained  not 
more  than  an  acre  or  two  of  ground,  but  the  trees 
were  large  spreading  oaks  that  1  have  seldom  seen 
surpassed  in  size  or  beauty ;  for  every  observer  of 
nature  will  agree  with  me,  that  trees,  even  of  the 
same  species,  differ  in  appearance  as  widely  as 
human  beings.  In  every  grove  the  vegetation  has 
some  distinguishing  characteristic,  just  as  all  the  in- 
habitants of  a  village  have  some  trait  in  common. 
The  trees  are  stinted  or  luxuriant,  spreading  or  tall, 
majestic  or  beautiful ;  or  else  they  are  vulgar,  com- 
mon-place trees,  as  devoid  of  interest  as  the  un- 
meaning people  whom  we  meet  with  every  day.  I 
never  see  a  great  oak  standing  by  the  road  side, 
without  observing  its  peculiarities.  Some  are  round 
and  portly,  some  tall  and  spindling;  some  aspire, 
and  others  grovel ;  one  has  a  gracefully  rounded 
outline,  and  another  a  rugged,  irregular  shape.  Here 
you  may  behold  one  waving  its  head  with  a  courtly 
bend,  and  there  you  may  see  another  tossing  its  great 
arms  up  and  down  like  some  angular,  long  limbed, 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  59 

gigantic  booby.  Trees,  too,  have  their  diseases, 
their  accidents,  and  their  adventures.  They  are 
torn  by  the  wind,  shattered  by  the  lightning,  and 
nipped  by  the  frost ;  and  while  some  of  them  have 
in  their  youth  the  aspect  of  sallow  and  dyspeptic 
invalids,  others  flourish  in  a  green  old  age;  and 
whether  standing  singly  in  the  field,  or  crowded  to- 
gether in  the  forest,  whether  embraced  by  ivy, 
clothed  with  moss,  or  hung  with  mistletoe,  they  al- 
ways attract  attention,  by  the  peculiarities  which 
they  derive  from  these  and  other  incidents. 

Our  schoolhouse  oaks  were  of  the  majestic  kind. 
They  had  braved  the  elements  for  at  least  a  cen- 
tury, and  seemed  to  be  still  in  the  vigour  of  life. 
Their  great  dark  trunks  were  covered  with  moss, 
and  their  immense  branches,  interlocking  far  above 
the  ground,  shadowed  it  with  a  canopy  that  not  a 
sunbeam  could  penetrate.  The  soil  was  trodden 
hard  and  smooth  by  the  school  boys,  and  covered 
with  a  short,  green  sward,  over  which  the  wind 
swept  so  freely  as  to  carry  away  all  the  fallen 
leaves. 

Here  we  played,  and  wrestled,  and  ran  races  ; 
here,  in  hot  weather,  the  master,  forsaking  the 
schoolhouse,  disposed  his  noisy  pupils  in  groups 
among  the  trees ;  here  the  rustic  orator  harangued 
his  patriotic  fellow  citizens  on  the  anniversary  of 
independence ;  and  here  the  itinerant  preacher  ad- 
dressed the  neighbours  on  the  Sabbath.  On  occa- 
sions like  the  latter,  our  grove  became  as  gay  as  a 


60  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

parterre.  The  bonnets,  and  ribbons,  and  calicoes 
were  as  numerous  and  many  coloured  as  the  flowers 
of  the  field.  The  farmers  and  their  families  gene- 
rally came  to  the  preaching  on  horseback  ;  and  it 
was  a  fortunate  animal  that  bore  a  lighter  burden 
than  two  adults  and  a  brace  of  children.  The 
young  women  rode  behind  their  brothers  or  sweet- 
hearts, or  in  default  of  such  attendants,  mounted 
sociably  in  pairs,  the  best  rider  taking  the  saddle 
and  holding  the  reins,  as  smart  girls  are  always 
willing  enough  to  do.  It  was  a  goodly  sight  to  see 
the  horses  hitched  to  the  trees  in  every  direction, 
showing  off  their  sleek  hides  and  well  combed 
manes  to  the  best  advantage  ;  and  decked  with 
new  saddles,  and  gaudy  saddle  cloths,  and  fine 
riding  skirts,  that  were  never  exposed  to  the  weather 
or  the  eye  except  on  Sundays  and  holidays.  Then 
the  people,  before  the  sermon  began,  sitting  in 
groups,  or  strolling  in  little  companies,  looked  so 
gay  and  so  happy,  that  Sunday  seemed  to  be  to 
them  not  merely  a  day  of  rest,  but  of  thanksgiving 
and  enjoyment.  When  they  collected  round  the 
preacher,  sitting  silent  and  motionless,  with  their 
heads  uncovered  and  thrown  back  in  devout  atten- 
tion, the  scene  acquired  a  graver  and  deeper  inte- 
rest. I  have  never  witnessed  that  spectacle  on  a 
calm,  sunny  day,  without  a  sensation  of  thrilling 
pleasure;  and  often  as  I  have  seen  it,  the  impres- 
sion that  it  made  continued  ever  fresh  and  beautiful. 
There  was  a  mingled  cheerfulness  and  solemnity  in 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  61 

this  sight,  that  attached  itsself  to  the  spot,  and  I  have 
afterwards  felt  in  the  midst  of  my  studies  or  sports 
on  school  days,  a  soothing  calmness  creeping  over 
me,  a  feeling  that  the  place  was  hallowed,  like  that 
which  we  experience  when  strolling  in  a  grave- 
yard, or  lingering  in  the  aisle  of  a  church. 

My  memory  clings  to  this  spot,  as  the  scene  of 
the  most  vivid  pains  and  pleasures  of  my  childhood. 
I  pass  over  the  detail  of  all  the  sufferings  that  I  en- 
dured from  the  brutality  of  ignorant  and  tyrannical 
teachers ;  perhaps  1  was  more  sensitive  than  other 
children ;  but  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that 
although  1  was  fond  of  learning,  and  docile  in  my 
disposition,  I  imbibed,  very  early  in  life,  a  cordial 
hatred  for  the  whole  race  of  schoolmasters.  But  I 
loved  my  books  and  my  companions ;  I  loved  to 
play  at  ball  and  run  races ;  and  I  loved  the  school- 
house  grove,  with  its  tall  oaks  and  verdant  lawn.  I 
used  to  linger  on  a  neighbouring  hill,  to  look  on 
that  graceful  swell,  and  those  fine  trees,  and  to 
wonder  why  I  thought  the  landscape  so  attractive. 
Those  who  recollect  their  sensations  on  first  enter- 
ing a  theatre,  or  reading  a  novel,  can  form  some 
idea  of  my  feelings.  That  first  play  and  first  novel 
remain  through  life  impressed  upon  the  imagina- 
tion, as  standards  with  which  all  similar  objects  are 
compared ;  and  it  was  thus  that  the  most  interest- 
ing spot  thai  attracted  my  young  fancy,  became  to 
me  the  beau  ideal  of  rural  and  romantic  beauty. 

There  was  another  charm  connected  with  this 
6 


62  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

spot,  the  secret  of  which  I  will  now  disclose  to  the 
reader,  although  for  many  years  I  hardly  dared  ac- 
knowledge it  to  myself.  My  cousin  Lucy  was  my 
school  companion,  and  I  never  think  of  that  green 
hill  without  seeing  her  slender  form  gliding  among 
its  shades,  with  the  same  calm  blue  eye,  and  meek 
countenance,  and  soft  smile,  that  she  wore  when 
we  were  children.  I  hardly  know  why  I  loved 
Lucy  better  than  any  body  else,  for  she  was  seve- 
ral years  my  senior,  .and  never  was  my  playfellow. 
I  romped  and  laughed  with  the  other  girls,  and 
played,  them  all  sorts  of  tricks ;  but  1  never  hid  her 
bonnet,  or  pinned  her  sleeve  to  that  of  her  next 
neighbour.  From  her  childhood  she  was  sedate 
and  womanly ;  her  deportment  was  always  delicate 
and  dignified ;  there  was  a  something  about  her 
that  repelled  familiarity,  while  the  winning  softness 
of  her  manner  invited  love  and  respect.  When  I 
came  near  to  Lucy  I  was  no  longer  a  wild,  mis- 
chievous boy,  but  was  elevated  into  a  better  and 
more  rational  being  by  the  desire,  that  I  felt  to 
please  and  serve  her. 

We  had  a  succession  of  schoolmasters,  the  most 
of  whom  were  illiterate  men,  who  remained  with 
us  but  a  few  months.  At  last  there  came  one  of 
higher  pretensions  than  the  rest.  He  was  a  young 
man  of  liberal  education,  who  brought  with  him 
the  highest  testimonials  of  his  character  and  attain- 
ments. He  strolled  into  the  neighbourhood  on 
foot,  and  so  great  was  his  modesty  that  it  was 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  63 

some  time  before  any  body  discovered  his  acquire- 
ments, or  suspected  the  object  of  his  visit.  At 
length  he  proposed,  with  some  diffidence,  to  fill  the 
vacant  situation  of  teacher;  and,  having  produced 
his  credentials,  was  readily  admitted  to  that  thank- 
less office.  He  was  altogether  a  different  man 
from  any  of  his  predecessors.  His  temper  was 
even,  his  heart  kind,  his  manners  easy,  and  he  had 
the  rare  talent  of  commanding  respect,  and  com- 
municating knowledge,  without  the  appearance  of 
an  effort.  He  was  as  bashful  as  a  girl,  and  as  art- 
less a  being  as  ever  lived.  Every  body  liked  him  ; 
his  good  sense,  his  cheerfulness,  his  inoffensive 
manners,  and  industrious  habits,  made  him  the  fa- 
vourite of  young  and  old. 

It  was  customary  in  those  days  for  the  school- 
master to  board  with  his  patrons,  each  one  enter- 
taining him  for  a  week  at  a  time,  in  rotation ;  an 
arrangement  which,  while  it  divided  the  burden  of 
his  subsistence  equally,  enabled  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood to  become  personally  acquainted  with 
the  pedagogue.  When  the  latter  happened  to  be 
a  dull,  prosing  dog,  scantily  supplied  with  good 
manners  and  good  fellowship,  the  week  of  his  re- 
ception wore  heavily  away,  the  table  was  less  plen- 
tifully spread  than  usual,  and  the  whiskey  jug  was 
sure  to  have  suffered  some  disaster  on  the  day  pre- 
vious to  his  arrival.  The  head  of  the  family  in- 
dulged himself  on  such  occasions  in  liberal  remarks 
upon  the  idleness  and  effeminacy  of  learning ;  and 


64  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

the  good  wife,  by  frequent  allusions  to  the  scarcity 
of  provisions,  and  the  high  price  of  schooling,  gave 
the  unfortunate  teacher  to  understand  that  he  was 
considered  as  a  mere  incubus  upon  the  body  poli- 
tic— a  Mr.  Nobody,  who  was  only  tolerated,  and 
fed,  and  allowed  to  sit  in  the  chimney-corner,  for 
the  purpose  of  keeping  the  children  out  of  mis- 
chief. But  if  the  schoolmaster  was  a  pleasant  fel- 
low, one  who  read  the  newspapers,  and  played  the 
fiddle,  and  told  a  good  story,  the  week  of  his  visita- 
tion brought  holiday  times  and  high  doings  to  the 
farmer's  hospitable  fireside.  Then  the  good  man 
heard  the  news,  the  girls  heard  the  violin,  aud  the 
mistress  of  the  house  found  a  patient  auditor  to  the 
recital  of  all  the  misadventures  which  had  befallen 
the  family  within  the  scope  of  her  memory.  Then 
the  boys  wore  their  holiday  clothes  every  day,  the 
hospitable  board  groaned  under  a  load  of  good 
things,  and  the  cheerful  family  enjoyed  seven  long 
days  of  good  humour  and  good  eating. 

Of  all  schoolmasters,  Mr.  Alexis,  the  gentleman 
above  alluded  to,  was  the  most  popular  one  that 
ever  darkened  the  door  of  a  farm-house.  In  his 
time,  the  "  schoolmaster's  week'1  was  a  week  of 
festival.  He  not  only  read  the  news,  and  played 
the  fiddle,  but  could  sing  a  good  song,  and  recite 
the  veracious  biography  of  a  hundred  real  ghosts. 
He  could  explain  all  the  hard  words  in  the  Testa- 
ment, all  the  outlandish  names  in  the  newspapers, 
and  all  the  strange  hieroglyphics  which  are  mis- 


THE  VILLAGE  .TEACHER.  65 

chievously  set  down  in  the  almanac,  to  puzzle  the 
brains  of  simple  country  folks.  Then  he  was  affa- 
ble and  talkative;  with  all  this  he  was  good- 
humoured,  and,  what  perhaps  was  more  effective 
than  all  the  rest,  he  was  good-looking.  With 
such  qualifications  he  was  always  a  welcome 
visiter,  and  I  can  well  remember  the  stir  that  his 
coming  occasioned  in  my  father's  house.  On  the 
preceding  Saturday  there  was  an  universal  scrub- 
bing; the  floors,  the  windows,  the  chairs,  the  pew- 
ter plates,  the  milk  pails,  and  the  children,  were  all 
scrubbed.  The  dimity  curtains,  that  lay  snugly 
packed  away  in  the  great  press,  sprinkled  with 
lavender  and  rose  leaves,  were  now  brought  forth 
and  hung  over  the  parlour  windows ;  and  the 
snow-white  counterpanes,  that  were  kept  for  great 
occasions,  were  ostentatiously  spread  upon  the 
beds.  The  yard  was  swept,  and  the  great  weeds 
that  had  been  suffered  to  grow  unmolested,  were 
plucked  up  ;  and  the  whole  messuage,  out-houses, 
tenements,  and  appurtenances,  made  to  look  as  fine 
and  as  smart  as  the  nature  of  the  case  would 
admit.  Then  such  baking,  and  brewing,  and 
cooking !  The  great  oven  teemed  with  huge 
loaves  and  rich  pastry  ;  yielding  forth  from  its  vast 
mouth  puddings,  and  pies,  and  tarts,  enough  to 
have  foundered  a  whole  board  of  aldermen.  The 
fatted  calf  was  killed,  the  brightest  ornaments  of 
the  pig-stye  and  poultry-yard  were  devoted  to  the 
knife,  and  the  best  blood  of  the  farm  was  freely 
6* 


66  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

spilled  to  furnish  forth  delicate  viands,  with  which 
to  pamper  the  appetite  of  that  important  and 
popular  character,  the  schoolmaster. 

I  am  often  singular  in  my  opinions,  for  1  do  not 
consider  myself  bound  to  believe  any  thing,  merely 
because  every  body  else  believes  it.  As  to  the 
schoolmaster,  I  disliked  him  from  the  very  first; 
and  when  every  body  else  praised  him,  I  was 
silent.  1  had  an  inherent  antipathy  against  all  pe- 
dagogues. I  viewed  them  as  our  natural  enemies, 
a  race  created  to  scourge  and  terrify  children ;  and 
for  the  person  in  question  1  entertained  a  special 
and  particular  aversion.  This  was  the  more  singu- 
lar, as  I  was  by  nature  confiding  and  placable,  and 
never  indulged  a  malignant  feeling  towards  any 
other  human  being.  He  treated  me  with  kindness, 
instructed  me  with  unwearied  patience,  and  I  verily 
believe  would  have  found  the  road  to  my  heart, 
had  I  not  suspected  that  he  was  searching  out  the 
way  that  led  to  my  cousin  Lucy's.  1  was  always 
jealous  of  her,  because  the  disparity  of  our  ages 
placed  her  at  a  distance  which  almost  extinguished 
hope,  and  because  she  always  treated  me  as  a  boy 
and  a  relation,  and  either  never  did,  or  never 
would  see  that  I  cherished  feelings  towards  her  in- 
finitely more  tender  than  any  that  the  mere  ties  of 
consanguinity  could  have  awakened.  A  boy  in 
love  becomes  cunning  beyond  his  years.  Unable 
to  enter  the  lists  as  a  candidate,  and  obliged  to 
look  on  in  silence,  he  becomes  the  secret  and  vigi- 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  67 

lant  enemy  of  his  unconscious  rival.     I  was  conti- 
nually watching  the  schoolmaster  and  my  cousin 
Lucy;  and  not  a  glance,  nor  a  blush,  nor  a  touch 
of  the  hand,  escaped  my  jealous  eye.     An  indiffer- 
ent observer  would  have  seen  nothing  in  their  in- 
tercourse to  excite  the  slightest  suspicion ;  an  ena- 
moured boy,  who  had  loved  devotedly  from  the 
first  dawn  of  intelligence,  read  volumes  of  meaning 
ifl  every  act  and  look.     The  conduct  of  both  of 
them  was  perfectly  delicate  and  unexceptionable. 
There  was  not  the  least  approach  to  gallantry  on 
his  part,  nor  an  inviting  or  an  encouraging  glance 
on  hers ;  but  I  could  mark  the  softened  tone  of  his 
voice,  and  the  involuntary  reverence  of  his  man- 
ner, when  he  addressed  her.     1  could  detect  the 
brightening  of  his  eye  when  she  spoke,  and  the 
courteous  bow  wiJ^which  he  replied  to  any  ques- 
tion from  her,  so  efferent  from  the  common-place 
civility  with  which  he  treated  his  other  female  pu- 
pils.    He  often  walked  home  with  her,  but  never 
without  other  company,   for  she  was   always  sur- 
rounded by  children,  one  or  two  of  whom  she  held 
by  the  hand,  as  if  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  a 
tete-a-tete.     Perhaps   she  never  had  a  thought  that 
there  was  any  particular  meaning  in  his  attentions ; 
but  there  is  an  instinct  in  female  delicacy  ;  and  al- 
though it  might  never  have  occurred  to  Lucy  that 
her  teacher  had  opportunities  beyond  other  men, 
which  required  that  she  should   place  a   careful 
watch  over  her  affections,  nature  regulated  her 


G8  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

conduct.  I  was  often  with  them  ;  they  conversed 
without  constraint,  and  never  spoke  of  love,  or 
courtship,  or  marriage.  But  he  pointed  out  to  her 
the  finest  traits  of  the  landscape,  gathered  for  her 
the  choicest  flowers,  and  discoursed  of  poetry; 
sometimes  reciting  the  most  beautiful  passages,  in 
so  eloquent  a  tone  that  1  could  have  knocked  him 
down,  and  was  ready  to  quarrel  with  Lucy  for  the 
apparent  interest  with  which  she  listened.  Often 
did  I  wish  that  he  was  a  thousand  miles  off,  or  that 
I  was  a  schoolmaster. 

It  would  be  too  tedious  to  set  down  all  the  mis- 
chievous pranks  that  I  played  our  teacher,  in  re- 
venge for  his  supposed  attachment  to  my  cousin. 
Though  fond  of  learning,  I  obstinately  persisted  in 
a  resolution  to  owe  nothing  to  his  teaching ;  and 
more  than  once  disgraced  himg^d  myself  by  wilful 
blunders,  at  our  public  examroations.  I  incited 
the  biggest  boys  into  conspiracies  against  his  peace 
and  dignity.  Once  when  he  was  going  to  a  tea- 
party  at  my  uncle's,  a  little  better  dressed  than 
usual,  a  troop  of  us  scampered  past  him,  as  he  was 
crossing  a  miry  brook,  and,  pretending  not  to  ob- 
serve him,  splashed  a  shower  of  mud  and  water 
over  his  holiday  suit.  We  sent  him  one  day  into 
a  large  company  with  a  grotesque  figure  chalked 
on  his  back ;  and  on  another  occasion  scorched  off 
his  eyebrows  by  exploding  gunpowder  under  his 
nose,  while  he  was  intently  engaged  in  working  a 
problem  in  algebra.  None  of  these  persecutions 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  69 

ever  ruffled  his  temper;  and  when  my  mother, 
who  could  not  believe  that  the  fault  was  mine,  re- 
proached him  with  the  slowness  of  my  progress, 
he  mildly  told  her  that  the  greatest  geniuses  were 
often  dull  boys  at  school,  and  that  I  would  no 
doubt  make  a  shining  man. 

At  length  the  term  of  the  schoolmaster's  engage- 
ment expired,  and  my  heart  bounded  with  joy 
when  I  heard  that  he  was  going  to  quit  the  country. 
I  was  at  my  uncle's  on  the  morning  of  his  departure, 
when  he  called  to  take  leave  of  the  family.  Lucy 
was  in  the  garden,  and  Alexis  went  there  to  look 
for  her.  Young  as  I  was,  I  could  readily  compre- 
hend that  a  latent  passion  would  be  most  apt  to 
betray  itself  in  a  parting  interview  ;  and  that  of  all 
places  in  the  world,  a  garden  is  the  fittest  to  excite 
tender  feelings  in  the  bosom  of  .young  lovers.  In 
a  moment  a  thousand  thoughts  flashed  through  my 
mind — in  another  moment  love  and  jealousy 
prompted  me  to  observe  a  meeting,  which  my  fore- 
boding heart  told  we  would  be  fraught  with  more 
than  usual  interest.  It  was  a  mean  act,. but  jealousy 
is  always  mean.  I  was  too  young,  too  much  in 
love,  and  too  angry  to  reflect ;  and  if  I  had  reflect- 
ed, who  could  have  thought  it  improper  to  witness 
any  thing  which  could  possibly  take  place  between 
two  such  perfect  beings  as  my  cousin  Lucy  and  the 
schoolmaster? 

I  crept  secretly  to  the  garden,  and  from  the  co- 
vert of  a  thick  hedge  saw  Alexis  approach  my 


70  MY    COUSIN   LUCY    AND 

cousin.  He  took  her  hand,  and  told  her  that  he 
had  come  to  bid  her  farewell ;  that  he  had  bade 
adieu  to  all  his  other  friends,  and  had  deferred  call- 
ing upon  her  until  the  last,  because  to  part  with 
her  was  more  painful  than  all  the  rest.  There  was 
a  touching  softness  in  his  voice,  and  a  correspond- 
ing melancholy  clouded  his  features.  "  What  a 
canting  rascal,"  said  I  to  myself;  "  I  am  afraid 
Lucy  will  never  be  able  to  stand  it." 

He  then  dropt  her  hand,  and  began  to  pluck 
twigs  from  a  peach  tree,  while  Lucy  was  industri- 
ously engaged  in  demolishing  a  great  rose.  At  last 
he  said,  "  There  is  one  subject — "  Lucy  stooped 
down,  and  began  to  pull  the  weeds  from  a  tulip 
bud.  The  schoolmaster  stopped  and  looked  em- 
barrassed. 

"  Silly  fellow  !"  said  I,  exultingly,  "  why  does 
he  not  kneel  down,  and  lay  his  hand  upon  his 
heart  ?"  I  took  courage  when  I  saw  his  trepidation, 
believing  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  tell  his 
love,  or  that  Lucy  would  discard  so  clumsy  a 
lover. 

"  Miss  Lucy" — said  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Sir !"  said  Miss  Lucy. 

"  What  a  canting  villain  !"  said  I. 

Mr.  Alexis  looked  around,  as  if  fearful  of  obser- 
vation. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  were  stealing,"  said  1 ;  "  and 
well  he  may,  the  vile  pedagogue !" 

Alexis  sighed,  threw  down  his  eyes,  and  resumed, 


THE    VILLAGE    TEACHER.  71 

"  There  is  one  subject,  Miss  Lucy,  upon  which  I 
have  long  wished — "  He  looked  up,  but  Lucy 
was  several  paces  off,  twining  the  delicate  vines  of 
a  honeysuckle  through  the  lattice  of  the  summer- 
house. 

"  She  will  never  have  him,"  said  I,  in  an  ecstasy ; 
"  I  know  she  would  never  have  a  whining,  canting, 
pitiful  schoolmaster !" 

Alexis  followed  Lucy  to  the  summer-house,  and 
remarked  that  u  the  honeysuckles  were  very  fra- 
grant." 

"  Very  !"  said  my  cousin. 

"  He  has  dropped  the  subject,"  thought  I ;  "  dear 
Lucy  !  how  well  she  managed  him !  Ah  !  these 
schoolmasters  know  not  how  to  make  love  ;  if  I 
were  there,  I  could  show  him  how  !"  I  breathed 
freely,  and  thought  it  was  all  over. 

Alexis  stood  by  the  side  of  Lucy ;  he  leaned  to- 
wards her,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice.  What  he 
said  1  know  not,  but  the  words  were  potent,  for 
Lucy  turned  her  head  from  him,  and  I  saw  that  her 
face  was  covered"  with  blushes,  redder  than  the 
coral  flowers  that  hung  around  her. 

I  thought  she  was  angry.  "  If  he  has  dared  to 
insult  my  cousin,"  said  I,  "  how  proudly  will  1 
avenge  her  quarrel !"  I  looked  again,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  my  eyes  !  Lucy's  head  was 
reclining  upon  the  shoulder  of  Alexis,  and  one 
arm  was  thrown  gently  around  her !  I  thought  their 
lips  met ! 


72  MY    COUSIN    LUCY    AND 

1  could  stay  no  longer.  1  fled  from  the  hateful 
scene,  burning  with  rage  and  jealousy,  and  deeply 
mortified  at  my  own  meanness  in  having  become 
the  voluntary  and  secret  witness  of  that  which 
should  have  been  sacred  from  every  eye. 

In  a  few  days  after  this  occurrence  1  left  my  na- 
tive country.  I  had  long  been  destined  for  the  sea, 
and  having  now  received  a  midshipman's  warrant 
in  the  navy,  set  out  for  the  sea-board.  After  I  had 
bade  adieu  to  all  my  other  friends,'  I  went  to  take 
leave  of  Lucy ;  for  I,  too,  felt  that  this  was  the 
most  painful  of  my  separations ;  the  parting  with 
her  seemed  like  breaking  the  last  and  tenderest  tie 
that  bound  me  to  the  land  of  my  birth.  She  had 
always  treated  me  with  the  affection  of  a  sister,  and 
never  did  her  manner  seem  so  tender  as  at  this  mo- 
ment. When  I  left  her  father's  house,  she  followed 
me  across  the  little  lawn  before  the  door,  and  as  1 
threw  the  reins  over  my  horse's  neck,  and  lingered 
to  repeat  my  adieu,  she  put  a  paper  into  my  hand. 
Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  and  my  own  were 
not  dry. 

1  was  some  miles  on  my  way  from  home  before 
my  emotion  subsided  sufficiently  to  permit  me  to 
read  Lucy's  note.  In  this  she  disclose'd  to  me  her 
engagement  with  Alexis  ;  she  said  it  had  been  ap- 
proved by  her  parents,  and  that  the  marriage  would 
take  place  whenever  he  should  be  established  in  a 
profession,  for  which  he  was  preparing  himself.  She 
spoke  of  the  fair  prospects  that  smiled  before  her, 


THE    VILLAGE    TEACHER.  73 

in  an  union  with  one  so  amiable  and  highly  gifted. 
She  said  that  she  made  this  disclosure,  because  1  was 
her  nearest  and  dearest  relative,  after  her  parents, 
and  was  on  the  eve  of  so  long  an  absence,  that  the 
separation  seemed  to  be  almost  final.  More  she  said, 
which  1  need  not  repeat ;  it  was  all  kind  and  sisterly, 
and  I  vowed  that  I  would  always  love  my  cousin 
Lucy,  whether  she  married  the  schoolmaster  or  not. 

Her  note  had  one  good  effect,  which  harsher 
measures  would  have  failed  to  produce.  Her 
generous  confidence  subdued  me ;  and  as  1  reflect- 
ed upon  it  in  my  cooler  moments,  1  determined  to 
smother  my  ill-fated  passion,  and  to  love  Lucy 
only  in  manner  and  form  as  her  cousin  lawfully 
might.  I  resolved,  moreover,  to  forego  all  my 
vengeance  against  Alexis,  and  to  think  of  him  with 
kindness. 

In  a  few  days  I  embarked.  We  had  a  brilliant 
cruise.  The  war  with  Great  Britain  was  just  de- 
clared, and  the  ocean  swarmed  with  our  enemies. 
We  were  frequently  engaged,  and  generally  suc- 
cessful. The  novelty  and  excitement  of  this  life 
soon  caused  a  wonderful  revolution  in  my  feelings. 
I  was  no  longer  a  romantic  boy,  brooding  over  a 
hopeless  passion,  with  the  single  object  of  my 
adoration  continually  before  my  eyes.  My  heart 
had  set  up  other  idols ;  it  had  now  ample  sea-room, 
and,  like  our  gallant  vessel,  rode  gaily  over  the 
sparkling  ocean  of  life.  I  learned  to  think  of  Lucy 
as  the  destined  bride  of  another ;  yet  1  thought  of 
7 


74  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

her  as  a  lovely  and  a  hallowed  being,  and  some- 
times pronounced  her  name  with  the  reverence 
with  which  a  devout  catholic  utters  that  of  his  tu- 
telary saint.  Often  when  our  ship  lay  becalmed, 
when  the  clear  moonlight  was  spread  over  the 
ocean,  when  the  waves  were  at  rest,  and  every 
thing  was  still,  1  would  lie  for  hours  upon  the  deck, 
thinking  of  the  schoolhouse,  and  its  beautiful  grove, 
and  my  fair  cousin.  Then  i  would  think  of  the 
honours  that  awaited  me — of  the  time  when  I 
should  be  numbered  among  the  heroes  of  my  coun- 
try ;  and  would  sigh  to  reflect,  that  the  lovely 
flower,  which  so  proudly  I  would  have  twined 
among  my  laurels,  would  be  blushing  unseen  in  the 
lowly  cottage  of  a  country  schoolmaster. 

During  my  first  cruise,  which  lasted  nearly  two 
years,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  distinguish  myself  on 
several  occasions.  But  I  panted  for  higher  hon- 
ours ;  and  on  our  return  to  port,  finding  a  fine  fri- 
gate on  the  point  of  sailing,  I  solicited  permission 
to  join  her,  and  being  considered  as  an  efficient 
officer,  my  request  was  granted,  and  I  sailed  on 
another  cruise,  without  setting  my  foot  on  shore. 
This  act  of  devotedness  to  my  profession  raised  me 
in  the  eyes  of  my  commander,  who  afforded  me 
every  opportunity  of  acquiring  distinction.  1  now 
rose  rapidly.  When  at  sea  I  was  engaged  in  every 
hazardous  enterprise,  and  when  in  foreign  ports 
mj  superior  introduced  me  into  the  best  society. 
Among  the  exotic  beauties  whom  1  beheld,  I  saw 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  75 

none  so  beautiful  as  Lucy,  but  many  who  were 
more  polished  ;  perhaps  my  taste  became  vitiated, 
for  although  I  still  cherished  the  memory  of  her 
unpretending  graces,  I  learned  to  admire  the  more 
dazzling  charms  of  others,  and  to  indulge  the 
thought  that  1  might  at  some  future  day  adore  ano- 
ther in  her  stead. 

After  a  long  cruise,  in  which  many  dangerous 
exploits  were  attempted,  and  some  of  them  bril- 
liantly accomplished,  we  were  homeward  bound, 
when  we  fell  in  with  a  fine  frigate  of  the  enemy. 
Both  ships  were  soon  cleared  for  action,  and  after 
a  bloody  engagement  we  succeeded  in  capturing 
our  foe.  1  was  now  acting  as  a  lieutenant,  and 
having  the  good  fortune  to  be  stationed  on  the 
spar-deck,  immediately  under  the  eye  of  my  com- 
mander, received  his  compliments  for  my  conduct. 

We  came  into  port  triumphantly.  Public  hon- 
ours of  the  highest  character  were  awarded  to  us. 
Dinners  and  balls  were  given,  and  the  population 
of  a  great  city  vied  in  the  expression  of  their  pa- 
triotic gratitude ;  while  the  newspapers  throughout 
the  whole  continent  were  filled  with  our  praises. 
1  was  promoted  to  a  lieutenancy,  and  had  the  gra- 
tification of  seeing  my  name  emblazoned  in  the 
public  prints,  with  those  of  my  distinguished  supe- 
riors. In  these  proud  moments  I  did  not  forget  my 
fair  cousin ;  entirely  as  1  had  resigned  her,  and  cor- 
dially as  I  wished  her  happiness,  1  sighed  to  think 
of  her  obscure  and  lonely  fate.  With  a  partner  so 


76  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

bright,  so  gentle,  and  so  dear,  to  share  my  laurete, 
I  should  have  been  supremely  happy  ;  and  I  could 
not  but  marvel  at  the  capricious  decree  of  fortune, 
which  bad  doomed  one,  who  might  have  shone  as 
the  bride  of  a  naval  hero,  to  drag  out  her  existence 
in  the  vulgar  lot  of  wife  to  a  country  pedagogue. 

I  had  written  to  my  parents  on  my  arrival ;  bat 
a  round  of  entertainments,  given  in  honour  of  our 
victory,(  prevented  me  from  visiting  them.  One 
evening,  as  I  strolled  through  the  streets  with  a 
friend,  we  passed  a  spacious  church,  into  which 
crowds  of  fashionable  people  were  hurrying  with 
apparent  eagerness. 

"  Let  us  go  in  here,"  said  my  companion,  "  and 
hear  the  the  fashionable  preacher,  one  who  has 
turned  the  heads  of  the  whole  town,  and  is  more 
talked  of  than  Commodore  Perry  or  General  Scott. 
He  is  a  new  man,  who  has  eclipsed  all  his  contem- 
poraries by  his  eloquence,  while  his  learning  and 
modesty  win  universal  esteem." 

We  entered  the  church,  and  1  looked  round 
upon  the  novel  exhibition,  as  upon  some  fairy 
scene.  It  was  long  since  I  had  sat  in  the  bosom  of 
a  worshipping  congregation ;  and  how  different 
was  this  from  the  rustic  assemblage  that  I  had 
been  accustomed  to  see,  gathered  in  pious  silence 
under  the  schoolhouse  oaks  !  Here  was  a  splendid 
edifice,  ornamented  with  gilding,  decorated  with 
rich  hangings,  and  lighted  with  brilliant  chande- 
liers, whose  intense  effulgence  awakened  in  my 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  77 

unpractised  heart  a  thrilling  sensation  of  excite- 
ment. But  the  audience,  how  gay,  how  gorgeous, 
how  beautiful !  Those  to  whom  such  scenes  are 
familiar,  can  form  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  impres- 
sion made  by  a  fair  and  fashionable  crowd  upon 
the  mind  of  one  accustomed  only  to  rustic  assem- 
blages, or  to  the  hardy  multitudes  who  fill  the 
camp  or  crowd  the  quarter-deck.  Here  were 
gems,  and  plumes,  and  silks,  and  glowing  cheeks, 
and  sparkling  eyes ;  but  there  was  also  a  simple 
elegance  in  the  attire,  a  sedateness  in  the  demean- 
our, and  above  all,  a  devout  humility,  reigning 
throughout  this  thrilling  scene,  that  added  to  it  a 
solemn  grandeur,  which  exceeds  my  powers  of  de- 
scription. My  heart  was  elevated  as  I  gazed  on 
that  rich,  and  silent,  and  motionless  picture ;  and  I 
felt  how  the  omnipotent  influence  of  religion  can 
quell  the  happy,  and  soothe  the  wretched,  and  win 
the  gay,  and  calm  down  all  the  tumultuous  pas- 
sions of  human  nature,  as  oil  poured  upon  the 
waves  reduces  them  to  a  placid  surface. 

At  length  the  preacher  arose,  and  every  eye  was 
turned  towards  him.  I  looked  up,  and  what  was 
my  surprise  at  beholding  Alexis !  I  could  not  be 
mistaken,  for  there  he  stood  in  the  same  simple  at- 
tire, with  the  same  humble  aspect,  and  the  same 
benignant  smile,  that  were  so  familiarly  impressed 
upon  my  recollection.  His  manner  had  all  its  for- 
mer mildness,  and  his  voice  its  accustomed  me- 
lody ;  there  was  only  a  little  more  of  fulness  and 
7* 


78  MY  COUSIN  LUCY  AND 

compass  in  the  one,  and  a  slight  tinge  of  self-confi- 
dence added  to  the  other.  His  sermon  was  eloquent 
and  able ;  the  language  was  clear,  classical,  and  sim- 
ple ;  the  manner  of  its  delivery  calm  and  unassuming. 
His  voice  was  never  strained,  and  seldom  elevated 
above  its  ordinary  pitch ;  it  swelled  and  softened 
upon  the  ear,  without  the  slightest  effort  on  the 
part  of  the  speaker,  without  the  least  violence  to 
the  sense  of  the  hearer.  There  was  no  labour  of 
the  body ;  the  arm  was  never  extended,  the  hand 
only  was  raised  occasionally  from  the  cushion. 
The  whole  manner  of  the  speaker  was  mild  and 
persuasive ;  his  argument  was  acute,  close,  and 
powerful,  without  any  attempt  to  adorn  it  with  the 
graces  of  composition,  or  to  win  applause  by  the 
arts  of  oratory ;  yet  such  was  the  effect  produced 
by  the  delicate  choice  of  harmonious  words,  their 
symmetrical  arrangement  and  chaste  delivery, 
together  with  the  apostolic  earnestness,  and  an  air 
of  pious  conviction  that  breathed  throughout,  that 
all  felt  and  acknowledged  that  the  speaker  had 
opened  a  new  vein  of  genuine  eloquence. 

The  deep  silence  that  prevailed  during  the  ser- 
mon, and  the  subdued  murmur  of  applause  that 
ran  in  whispers  through  the  congregation  when  the 
service  was  over,  attested  the  powerful  effect  of 
the  discourse.  As  the  people  dispersed,  1  endea- 
voured to  make  my  way  to  Mr.  Alexis,  but  the 
crowd  was  so  great  as  to  prevent  me  from  reach- 
ing the  pulpit  until  he  had  disappeared ;  and  as  it 


THE  VILLAGE  TEACHER.  79 

was  late,  1  returned  to  my  lodgings,  determined  to 
seek  him  on  the  following  day.  1  now  saw  that 
Lucy  was  not  wedded  to  obscurity  and  indigence, 
and  gave  her  full  credit  for  having  discovered  a 
man  of  genius  and  feeling  in  the  despised  school- 
master, who  had  so  long  been  the  object  of  my 
contempt  and  aversion.  I  took  shame  to  myself 
for  having  presumed  to  institute  comparisons  be- 
tween Alexis  and  myself;  and  felt  humble  in  ac- 
knowledging that  my  ephemeral  honours  would 
soon  be  forgotten,  while  his  useful  career  and 
splendid  powers  would  sustain  for  him  a  brilliant 
reputation  during  his  existence,  and  earn  a  name, 
which  his  countrymen  would  cherish  with  grati- 
tude when  he  should  be  no  more.  One  thing  flat- 
tered my  pride  and  consoled  my  prejudices;  I 
learned  that  Mr.  Alexis  had  long  since  abandoned 
his  former  vocation,  and  that  my  cousin  had  not, 
after  all,  married  a  schoolmaster. 

On  the  following  morning  early,  Mr.  Alexis  anti- 
cipated my  visit,  by  calling  to  see  me.  We  met 
cordially ;  and  on  the  day  after  were  jogging  socia- 
bly together  towards  my  native  place.  1  found 
Lucy  a  proud  and  happy  wife.  They  had  built  a 
neat  cottage  on  the  schoolhouse  hill,  in  the  midst 
of  that  beautiful  grove,  which  they  carefully  pre- 
served in  memory  of  former  days ;  and  I  now  found 
that  I  had  not  been  singular  in  my  admiration  of 
its  sylvan  graces.  The  schoolhouse  had  been  re- 
moved; and  a  large,  plain  meeting-house,  on  a 


80  MY  COUSIN  LUCY,  &C. 

neighbouring  eminence,  is  occupied  by  a  numerous 
congregation,  under  the  ministry  of  Alexis.  Loved 
and  honoured  by  his  former  pupils,  the  worthy 
pastor  is  surrounded  by  them,  who  look  up  to  him 
with  gratitude  as  the  teacher  of  their  youth,  and 
with  reverence  as  the  guide  of  their  maturity; 
while  the  happy  Lucy,  in  the  society  of  her  early 
friends  and  chosen  partner,  enjoys  the  sweetest 
fruits  of  innocence  and  virtue.  Here  they  live  in 
contentment  and  honour;  and  when  I  witnessed 
their  placid  lives,  their  pious  labours,  their  active 
benevolence  and  simple  virtues,  I  scarcely  knew 
which  to  love  and  admire  most,  my  fair  and  gentle 
cousin  Lucy,  or  my  ancient  rival,  but  now  my  very 
reverend  and  much  honoured  cousin,  "  the  school- 
master." 


81 


EMPTY  POCKETS. 


I  would  not  have  my  fair  readers  to  suppose,  that 
1  have  dreamed  away  my  life  in  a  "  Bachelor's  Ely- 
sium" or  a  "Paradise  of  Coquettes,"  or  that  all  my 
days  have  been  devoted  to  "  Love  in  a  village."  / 
have  done  the  state  some  service,  in  the  days  that 
tried  men's  soles,  and  have  had  my  own  blistered 
with  many  a  weary  march.  This  explanation  will 
no  doubt  dispel  any  surprise  which  may  have  arisen 
in  the  reader's  mind  when  the  title  of  this  paper 
first  caught  his  eye ;  for  if  there  is  any  class  of  citi- 
zens in  this  vast  republic,  who  are  peculiarly  fitted 
and  prepared  by  experience  to  expatiate  with  accu- 
racy and  feeling  on  the  subject  of  empty  pockets,  it 
is  composed  of  those  gentlemen  who  follow  to  the 
field  a  warlike  chief.  It  is  not  necessary  to  state  to 
what  corps  I  belonged,  nor  will  I  be  called  upon,  I 
trust,  to  exhibit  my  commission,  or  give  a  counter- 


82  EMPTY  POCKETS. 

sign :  It  will  be  sufficient  for  my  present  purpose  to 
assure  my  fair  readers  that  although  I  now  languish 
at  the  feet  of  beauty,  or  listen  to  the  inspirations  of 
the  muse,  I  have  in  verity  earned  the  right  to 
"shoulder  my  crutch  and  show  how  fields  were 
won." 

I  shall  now  proceed  to  relate  an  adventure  which 
happened  to  me  when  I  was  a  young  man  and  a  sol- 
dier. It  was  about  nine  years  ago.  I  was  then 
about  twenty-one  years  old,  but  nobody  would  have 
taken  me  for  more  than  eighteen.  I  was  returning 
home  from  a  severe  tour  of  duty  upon  the  frontiers, 
and  wore  in  my  features  and  habiliments  the  aspect 
of  a  "  poor  gentleman."  My  face  was  sallow  and 
sunburnt — my  cash  low — my  coat  threadbare  and 
my  epaulet  tarnished ; — as  for  my  laurels,  they  were 
not  yet  in  bloom. 

It  was  about  sunrise  in  the  morning — a  delightful 
morning  in  October — when  a  waiter  at  the  City^Ho- 
tel  in  New  York  roused  me  from  a  sound  slumber 
to  announce  that  the  steamboat  was  about  to  depart, 
and  that  a  porter  waited  for  my  trunk.  Having 
discharged  my  bill  and  made  all  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements on  the  preceding  evening,  I  had  only  to 
throw  on  my  clothes  and  follow  the  bearer  of  my 
baggage,  who  paced  Broadway  with  rapid  strides. 
The  street  was  filled  with  truant  passengers  like 
myself,  some  yawning  from  their  broken  slumbers, 
some  grumbling  from  a  half  finished  breakfast,  some 
fretting  about  their  baggage,  and  some  were  in  high 


EMPTY  POCKETS.  83 

spirits.  All  was  commotion  in  the  street  and  on  the 
wharf.  The  bell  was  ringing,  and  the  captain  of 
the  steamboat  bellowing  like  a  madman — "I'll 
swear  1  wont  wait  for  nara  man,  woman  or  child 
breathen — cast  off  that  cable  there  forard — stand  by 
to  clap  on  the  steam !  If  people  wont  come  in  time 

I  wont  wait — If  I  do" "Nobody  wants  you  to 

wait,"  thought  I,  for  1  was  now  on  board  ;  and  the 
boat  was  soon  paddling  her  way  through  the  water. 
It  was  indeed  a  delightful  morning,  and  the  pas- 
sengers crowded  to  the  deck.  Bright  eyes  and  dull 
ones,  drowsy  heads  and  all,  seemed  to  feel  the  vivi- 
fying effect  of  the  beauteous  scene  and  the  calm 
hour.  The  soldiers  were  on  drill  at  Governor's 
Island,  the  fatigue  parties  were  at  work,  the  drums 
were  beating — all  was  bustle.  But  the  water,  and 
the  surrounding  shores,  how  serene,  how  lovely  !  As 
the  eye  wandered  over  the  blue  expanse — but  per- 
haps my  fair  reader  has  never  been  at  New  York — 
has  never  seen  the  North  river,  nor  the  East  river, 
nor  the  Battery,  nor  Governor's  Island,  nor. the  Nar- 
rows— if  so,  my  poor  dear  unfortunate  reader,  it  is 
utterly  impossible  to  convey  to  thee  any  adequate 
idea  of  the  picturesque  beauties  of  New  York  Har- 
bour, and  the  highest  point  of  my  success  would  be 
to  make  thy  mouth  water  like  that  of  Tantalus.  I 
could  indeed,  if  I  had  not  long  since  disposed  of  my 
instruments,  and  almost  forgotten  their  use,  put  my 
little  knowledge  of  military  topography  in  requisi- 
tion, and  sketch  the  commanding  points  of  the  land- 


84  EMPTY  POCKETS. 

scape.  1  could  exhibit  the  labours  of  "  the  patriotic 
diggers,"  display  the  last  scene  of  Decatur's  glory, 
and  designate  the  spot  where  Hamilton  fell,  and  the 
monument  erected  to  his  memory.  But  1  beg  to  be 
excused — and  to  assure  the  reader  that  although  1 
cannot  enable  him  to  participate  in  the  pleasure,  all 
these  scenes,  and  the  incidents  attached  to  them, 
v- ere  glowing  richly  upon  my  fancy  as  the  steam- 
boat cleft  her  rapid  way  through  the  silent  waters. 
But  my  attention  was  soon  drawn  to  the  busy, 
the  smiling  and  the  contented  faces — the  gay,  the 
respectable,  and  the  decent  appearance  of  my  fel. 
low  passengers.  Fresh  from  scenes  of  tumult  and 
danger — from  the  daily  contemplation  of  hardy  sol- 
diers, lurking  borderers,  and  sturdy  woodsmen — 
from  camps  which,  though  containing  the  bravest  of 
men,  were  surrounded  by  the  worst  of  women, — 
with  a  heart  sickened  among  the  gloomy  scenes  of 
the  hospital,  and  yearning  after  repose,  I  gazed  with 
delight  upon  my  countrymen.  I  marked  the  ele- 
gance of  one,  the  neatness  of  another,  and  the  sua- 
vity of  a  third — and  contrasting  this  placid  and 
cheerful  display  of  national  happiness,  with  the 
vice,  dejection,  and  disease  which  1  had  left  behind, 
my  heart  was  filled  with  delight.  Cheerful  greetings, 
and  friendly  interchanges  of  civility  were  circula- 
ting round  me ;  I  only  was  unknown  and  solitary 
— but  I  reflected  that  I  too  should  soon  be  surround- 
ed by  warm  hearts  and  long  remembered  faces,  and 
should  feel  a  parent's  embrace  and  a  sister's  kiss. 


EMPTY  POCKETS.  85 

Strolling  towards  the  cabin  door,  I  now  observed 
a  large  handbill,  the  "  Rules  and  Regulations  of  this 
Boat,"  perspicuously  set  forth  in  legible  characters. 
Jt  was  announced  in  this  document,  that  shortly 
after  the  boat  should  get  under  weigh,  a  bell  should 
be  rung  to  summon  the  passengers  to  the  clerk's 
room,  where  they  were  to  pay  for  their  passages, 
and  be  entitled  to  a  seat  at  the  breakfast  table.  A 
gentleman  who  stood  near  me  perusing  this  impor- 
tant information,  now  turned  to  the  captain,  whose 
impatience  had  by  this  time  subsided  into  a  tolera- 
ble degree  of  calmness,  and  observed,  "Would  it  not 
be  better,  captain,  to  make  your  passengers  dis- 
charge their  fare  before  they  get  on  board  ?  You 
must  sometimes  be  imposed  upon  under  your  pre- 
sent regulations."  "Not  at  all,"  said  the  captain: 
"very  few  persons  travel  in  this  way,  who  have  not 
honour  enough  to  pay — and  as  for  the  slippery  chaps, 
1  watch  them,  and  1  know  one  of  them  as  soon  as  I 
see  him." 

The  bell  now  sounded,  and  1  hastened  towards 
the  clerk's  desk,  when,  feeling  for  my  pocket-book, 
what  was  my  consternation  to  find  it  gone  !  I  felt 
all  my  pockets,  but  found  it  not — I  hastened  to  my 
trunk,  but  it  was  not  there — the  pocket-book  was 
lost.  Most  people  would  on  such  an  occasion  have 
made  an  immediate  and  loud  outcry,  but  1  had 
learned  from  the  rules  and  articles  of  war  the  dan- 
ger  of  giving/flfoe  alarms,  and  by  my  General,  who 
though  nicknamed  old  Jake,  was  a  wise  man  and  a 
8 


86  EMPTY  POCKETS. 

good  soldier,  I  had  been  taught  that  we  should  not 
discover  our  weakness  to  the  enemy.  I  had  learn- 
ed too  in  travelling,  that  nothing  is  considered  as  a 
surer  sign  of  a  slippery  chap,  than  an  empty  pocket. 
I  therefore  assumed  as  much  composure  as  pos- 
sible, and  returning  to  the  deck  strolled  up  and 
down,  like  a  sentry  upon  post,  revolving  what  was 
best  to  be  done.  Perhaps  there  might  be  a  bank- 
note lurking  in  some  of  my  pockets.  1  was  aware 
that  this  was  the  worst  place  in  the  world  to  look 
for  a  bank-note — but  still,  1  was  a  careless  fellow, 
and  sometimes  stowed  my  cash  in  odd  places.  Upon 
this  suggestion,  my  pockets  were  searched  anew, 
and  a  thorough  inquisition  had  through  every  hole 
and  corner  of  my  trunk — a  bank-note  in  my  pocket, 
indeed  !  I  might  as  well  have  expected  to  find  the 
Sea  Serpent  there !  However,  my  commissariat 
had  not  been  deficient  the  day  before — 1  will  not 
name  the  sum  in  deposit,  but  it  was  sufficient.  1 
had  given  all  the  loose  change  in  my  pocket  to  the 
servants  at  the  tavern,  and  the  porter  who  carried 
my  trunk- — the  rest  was  in  my  pocket-book,  and  the 
pocket-book  was — where  ?  1  had  arrived  at  New- 
York  the  preceding  day,  had  gone  to  the  theatre  at 
night,  and  recollected  having  had  it  while  there.  I 
had  returned  to  the  hotel  late  at  night,  and  had  dis- 
charged my  bill,  but  whether  from  the  contents  of 
the  said-pocket  book,  or  from  the  loose  change  in 
my  pocket,  I  could  not  tell.  My  heart  and  head 
had  been  too  full  of  the  sorrows  of  Juliet  to  dwell 


EMPTY  POCKETS.  87 

on  such  trash  as  bank-bills  and  dollars — but  now,  I 
thought, 

"  How  happy  could  I  be  with  either !" 
I  was,  inded,  weary  of  conjecture : — one  thing  was 
certain,  my  money  was  gone ! — and  locking  my  trunk 
1  walked  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  leaned  over, 
gazing  at  the  water  in  deep  reverie ! 

The  surface  of  the  water  was  unruffled,  and  as  I 
looked  upon  it  in  painful  thought,  my  agitated  mind 
began  to  acquire  a  congenial  serenity.  Where  now, 
I  thought, — 

"  Where  now,  ye  lying  vanities  of  life, 

Ye  ever  tempting,  ever  cheating  train, 

Where  are  ye  now !" 

I  stretched  my  eyes  to  the  shore,  and  measured  the 
distance — "  Oh  such  a  night  as  this,  Leander  swam 
the  Hellespont ;"  and  why  should  not  Lieutenant 

immortalise  himself  by  swimming  the  East 

River  ?  1  had  but  to  leap  in,  a  few  minutes  would 
bring  me  to  the  shore,  and  1  could  march  to  Phila- 
delphia— but  Leander  swam  by  moonlight,  and  there 
was  a  lady  in  the  case,  besides  1  had  had  marching 
enough,  I  had  no  provisions,  and  could  not  carry  off 
my  baggage — I  was  in  the  enemy's  country,  it  was 
true,  without  the  means  of  carrying  on  the  war — 
but  to  retreat  and  leave  my  baggage  ! — "  Old  Jake" 
never  taught  me  that ! 

The  more  I  thought  upon  my  situation,  the  more 
complicated,  the  more  painful  were  my  reflections. 
I  was  among  total  strangers — there  was  not  a  face 


EMPTY  POCKETS. 

around  me  that  I  had  ever  seen,  not  an  eye  that 
would  recognise  me.  I  could  not  boast  that  genteel 
outside  which  is  the  common  passport  to  civility — 
my  tarnished  vestments  presented  no  very  inviting 
appearance — my  face  was  red  and  blistered  by  the 
sun — these  might  be  taken  as  the  indications  of  in- 
temperance. I  fancied  that  I  exhibited  the  coun- 
terfeit presentiment  of  one  of  those  slippery  chaps 
alluded  to  by  the  captain.  When  my  inability  to 
comply  with  their  lawful  requisitions  should  be  an- 
nounced, what  ungenerous  surmises  would  be  form- 
ed by  this  rough  sailor  and  his  hawk-eyed  f clerk  ! 
If  my  feelings  should  not  be  assailed  by  rude  re- 
marks, they  would  be  equally  galled  by  supercili- 
ous looks  and  silent  suspicions. 

Something  must  be  done.  I  might  appeal  to  the 
generosity  of  the  captain  ;  but  1  was  to  be  his  pas- 
senger only  to  Brunswick — how  should  1  get  thence 
to  Philadelphia  ?  Besides,  I  did  not  like  his  looks. 
1  paced  the  deck  with  rapid  strides,  and  with  a  sen- 
sation of  real  pain  at  my  heart.  My  profession  had 
led  me  through  innumerable  dangers  ;  I  had  faced 
men  in  honourable  fight,  but  I  could  not  cope  the 
redoubted  commander  of  a  steamboat,  and  chal- 
lenge the  inquisitive  glances  of  a  crowd  of  stran- 
gers. 

The  passengers  were  now  crowding  to  the  clerk's 
room  with  open  pocket-books,  or  returning  from  it 
securing  their  purses,  and  buttoning  their  pocket 
flaps.  Many  of  those  gentlemen  were  doubtless 


EMPTY  POCKETS.  89 

going  to  Philadelphia  ;  I  might  frankly  acknowledge 
to  one  of  them  my  situation,  and  solicit  a  loan,  to 
be  repaid  on  my  arrival. — But  he  might  doubt  my 
word.  I  thought  of  Jeremy  Diddler  a  thousand 
times,  and  wished  for  his  easy  knack  of  making  use- 
ful acquaintances.  I  began  to  scrutinize  the  faces 
of  my  fellow-travellers — and  endeavoured  to  find 
among  them  a  generous,  confiding  physiognomy.  1 
found  some  cold  polite  faces — some  foppish  faces — 
some  miserly  faces — and  a  great  many  common 
place  faces  which  said  nothing.  There  was  one 
gentlemen  whose  countenance  pleased  me.  He 
was  a  middle-aged,  fine  looking  man — easy  and 
genteel  in  his  deportment — with  a  noble  eye  and 
thoughtful  features.  1  approached  him,  but  at  that 
moment  a  couple  of  fine  girls  who  had  been  lounging 
over  the  deck  addressed  him  as  their  father,  and  I 
shrunk  back.  They  were  beautiful — the  rays  of 
beneficence  beamed  from  their  eyes  ;  but  a  young 
gentleman  does  not  like  to  disclose  his  poverty  to 
the  ladies,  who  of  all  things  have  a  particular  antip- 
athy to  empty  pockets. 

There  was  a  young  gentlemen  of  an  open  pleas- 
ing countenance,  with  whom  I  now  entered  into 
conversation.  He  was  quite  accessible,  communi- 
cative, and  even  voluble,  and  I  was  about  to  open 
my  heart  to  him — but  he  ran  on — became  familiar, 
vulgar,  and  disagreeable.  I  turned  from  him  in 
disgust. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  be  expeditious  if  you  please,' 
8* 


90  EMPTY  POCKETS. 

bawled  the  captain,  "  breakfast  is  on  the  table."  I 
turned  immediately  towards  a  gentleman  of  respec- 
table apearance,  whose  sun-browned  features  an- 
nounced him  to  have  been  a  traveller.  I  addressed 
him,  learned  that  we  were  destined  to  the  same  city, 
and  told  him  my  story.  The  old  gentleman  looked 
at  me  for  a  moment  with  an  inquisitive  glance,  then 
drawing  forth  his  pocket-book  presented  it,  and  de- 
sired me  to  take  what  I  wanted.  I  did  so — pre- 
sented him  with  my  address,  received  his,  and  has- 
tening to  the  clerk  discharged  his  claim  in  time  to 
take  my  seat  at  the  breakfast  table. 

This  was  one  of  the  petty  incidents  of  life,  but 
caused  me  more  pain  than  1  have  sometimes  expe- 
rienced under  real  affliction  ;  so  true  is  it  that  we 
can  bear  any  evils  with  greater  composure  than 
those  which  touch  our  pride,  and  that  of  all  misfor- 
tunes there  is  none  to  be  dreaded  more  than  an 
Empty  Pocket. 


91 


THE   CAPTAIN'S    LADY. 


After  an  absence  of  several  years  from  my  native 
city,  I  had  lately  the  pleasure  of  paying  it  a  visit ; 
and,  having  spent  a  few  days  with  my  friends,  was 
about  to  bid  adieu,  once  more,  to  the  goodly  and 
quiet  streets  of  Philadelphia.  The  day  had  not  yet 
dawned,  and  I  stood  trembling  at  the  door  of  the 
stage-office,  muffled  in  a  great  coat,  while  the  driver 
was  securing  my  baggage.  The  streets  were  still 
and  tenantless,  and  not  a  foot  seemed  to  be  travelling 
but  my  own.  Every  body  slept,  gentle  and  simple , 
for  sleep  is  a  gentle  and  simple  thing.  The  watch- 
men slumbered;  and  the  very  lamps  seemed  to 
have  caught  the  infectious  drowsiness.  I  felt  that  I 
possessed  at  that  moment  a  lordly  pre-eminence 
among  my  fellow  citizens ;  for  they  were  all  torpid, 
as  dead  to  consciousness  as  swallows  in  the  winter, 
or  mummies  in  a  catacomb.  I  alone  had  sense, 
knowledge,  power,  energy.  The  rest  were  all 


92 

perdu — shut  up,  like  the  imprisoned  genii,  who 
were  bottled  away  by  Solomon,  and  cast  into  the 
sea.  I  could  release  them  from  durance,  in  an  in- 
stant ;  1  could  discharge  either  of  them  from  impri- 
sonment, or  I  could  suffer  the  whole  to  remain 
spell-bound  until  the  appointed  time  for  their  en- 
largement. Every  thing  slept ;  mayor,  aldermen, 
and  councils,  the  civil  and  the  military,  learning, 
and  beauty,  and  eloquence,  porters,  dogs,  and  drays, 
steam  engines  and  patent  machines,  even  the  ele- 
ments reposed. 

If  it  had  not  been  so  cold,  1  could  have  moralized 
upon  the  death-like  torpor  that  reigned  over  the 
city.  As  it  was,  I  could  not  help  admiring  that 
wonderful  regulation  of  nature,  which  thus  pe- 
riodically suspends  the  vital  powers  of  a  whole 
people.  There  is  nothing  so  cheering  as  the  bustle 
of  a  crowd,  nothing  more  awful  than  its  repose. 
When  we  behold  the  first,  when  we  notice  the  vast 
aggregate  of  human  life  so  variously  occupied,  so 
widely  diffused,  so  powerful,  and  so  buoyant,  a 
sensation  is  produced  like  that  with  which  we  gaze 
at  the  ocean  when  agitated  by  a  storm ;  a  sense  of 
the  utter  inadequateness  of  human  power  to  still 
such  a  mass  of  troubled  particles ;  but  when  sleep 
strews  her  poppies,  it  is  like  the  pouring  of  oil  upon 
the  waves. 

I  had  barely  time  to  make  this  remark,  when 
two  figures  rapidly  approached — two  of  Solomon's 
genii  escaped  from  duresse.  Had  not  their  out- 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY.  93 

ward  forms  been  peaceable  and  worldly,  1  could 
have  fancied  them  a  pair  of  malignant  spirits,  coming 
to  invite  me  to  a  meeting  of  conspirators,  or  a  dance 
of  witches.  It  was  a  Quaker  gentleman,  with  a 
lady  hanging  on  one  arm,  and  a  lantern  on  the 
other,  so  that,  although  he  carried  double,  his  bur- 
thens were  both  light.  As  soon  as  they  reached 
the  spot  where  I  stood,  the  pedestrian  raised  his 
lantern  to  my  face,  and  inspected  it  earnestly  for  a 
moment.  1  began  to  fear  that  he  was  a  police 
officer,  who,  having  picked  up  one  candidate  for  the 
treadmill,  was  seeking  to  find  her  a  companion. 
It  was  an  unjust  suspicion  ;  for  worthy  Obadiah  was 
only  taking  a  lecture  on  physiognomy,  and,  being 
satisfied  with  the  honesty  of  my  lineaments,  he 
said  ; "  Pray,  friend,  would  it  suit  thee  to  take  charge 
of  a  lady?" 

What  a  question  !  Seldom  have  my  nerves  re- 
ceived so  great  a  shock.  Not  that  there  is  any  thing 
alarming  or  disagreeable  in  the  proposition  ;  but  the 
address  was  so  sudden,  the  interrogatory  so  direct, 
the  subject  matter  so  unexpected  !  "  Take  charge 
of  a  lady,"  quoth  he  !  I  had  been  for  years  a  can- 
didate for  this  very  honour.  JNever  was  there  a 
more  willing  soul  on  the  round  world.  I  had  always 
been  ready  to  "take  charge  of  a  lady,"  but  had 
never  been  happy  enough  to  find  one  who  was 
willing  to  place  herself  under  my  protection ;  and 
now,  when  1  least  expected  it,  came  a  fair  volunteer, 
with  the  sanction  of  a  parent,  to  throw  herself,  as 


94  THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

it  were,  into  my  arms  !  I  thought  of  the  country 
where  the  pigs  run  about  ready  roasted,  crying, 
"  Who'll  eat  me  ?"  I  thought,  too,  of  Aladdin  and 
his  wonderful  lamp,  and  almost  doubted  whether  1 
had  not  touched  some  talisman,  whose  virtues  had 
called  into  my  presence  a  substantial  personifica- 
tion of  one  of  my  day  dreams.  But  there  was 
Obadiah,  of  whose  mortality  there  could  be  no 
mistake;  and  there  was  the  lady's  trunk — not  an 
imaginary  trunk,  but  a  most  copious  and  ponderous 
receptacle,  ready  to  take  its  station  socially  beside 
my  own.  What  a  prize  for  a  travelling  bachelor  ! 
a  lady  ready  booked,  and  bundled  up,  with  her 
trunk  packed,  and  her  passage  paid !  Alas  !  it  is  for 
a  season — after  that,  some  happier  wight  will  "  take 
charge  of  the  lady,"  and  1  may  jog  on  in  single 
loneliness. 

These  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  my  mind, 
during  a  pause  in  the  Quaker's  speech,  and,  before 
I  could  frame  a  reply,  he  continued  :  "  My  daughter 
has  just  heard  of  the  illness  of  her  husband,  Captain 
Johnson  of  the  Riflemen,  and  wishes  to  get  to 
Baltimore  to-day  to  join  him.  The  ice  has  stopped 
the  steamboats,  and  she  is  obliged  to  go  by  land." 

1  had  the  grace  to  recover  from  my  fit  of  abstrac- 
tion, so  far  as  to  say,  in  good  time,  that  "  it  would 
afford  me  pleasure  to  render  any  service  in  my 
power  to  Mrs.  Johnson  ;"  and  I  did  so  with  great 
sincerity,  for  every  chivalrous  feeling  of  my  bosom 
was  enlisted  in  favour  of  a  lady,  young,  sensitive, 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY.  95 

and  no  doubt  beautiful,  who  was  flying  on  the  wings 
of  love  to  the  chamber  of  an  afflicted  husband.  I 
felt  proud  of  extending  my  protection  to  such  a 
pattern  of  connubial  tenderness ;  and,  offering  my 
hand  to  worthy  Obadiah,  I  added,  "  I  am  obliged 
to  you,  sir,  for  this  mark  of  your  confidence,  and 
will  endeavour  to  render  Mrs.  Johnson's  journey 
safe,  if  not  agreeable." 

A  hearty  "  thank  thee,  friend,  1  judged  as  much 
from  thy  appearance,"  was  all  the  reply,  and  the 
stage  being  now  ready,  we  stepped  in,  and  drove  off. 
As  the  carriage  rattled  over  the  pavement,  my 
thoughts  naturally  reverted  to  my  fair  charge.  Ah  ! 
thought  I,  what  a  happy  fellow  is  Captain  Johnson 
of  the  Rifle!  What  a  prize  has  he  drawn  in  the  lot- 
tery of  life  !  How  charming  it  must  be  to  have  such 
a  devoted  wife !    Here  was  I,  a  solitary  bachelor, 
doomed  perhaps  to  eternal   celibacy.     Cheerless 
indeed  was  my  fate  compared  with  his.     Should  I 
fall  sick,  there  was  no  delicate  female  to  fly  to  my 
bedside ;  no,  I  might  die,  before  a  ministering  angel 
would  come  to  me  in  such  a  shape.    But,  fortunate 
Captain  Johnson  !  no  sooner  is  he  placed  on  the 
sick  list,  by  the  regimental  surgeon,  than  his  amiable 
partner  quits  her  paternal   mansion,  accepts  the 
protection  of  a  stranger,  risks  her  neck  in  a  stage- 
coach, and  her  health  in  the  night  air,  and  flies  to 
the  relief  of  the  invalid. 

I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  Captain  John- 
son, continued  I.     Got  the  dengue  perhaps,  or  the 


96  THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

dyspepsia  ;  they  are  both  very  fashionable  com- 
plaints. Sickness  is  generally  unwelcome,  and 
often  an  alarming  visiter.  It  always  brings  the 
doctor,  with  his  long  bill  and  loathsome  drugs,  and 
it  sometimes  opens  the  door  to  the  doctor's  suc- 
cessor in  office,  Death.  But  sickness,  when  it 
calls  home  an  affectionate  wife,  when  it  proves  her 
love  and  her  courage,  when  its  pangs  are  soothed 
by  the  tender  and  skilful  assiduity  of  a  loving  and 
beloved  friend,  even  sickness,  under  such  circum- 
stances, must  be  welcome  to  that  happy  man, 
Captain  Johnson  of  the  Rifle. 

Poor  fellow  !  perhaps  he  is  very  sick — dying,  for 
aught  we  know.  Then  the  lady  will  be  a  widow, 
and  there  will  be  a  vacant  captaincy  in  the  Rifle 
Regiment.  Strange,  that  1  should  never  have  heard 
of  him  before— I  thought  I  knew  all  the  officers. 
What  kind  of  a  man  can  he  be?  The  Rifle  is  a  fine 
regiment.  They  were  dashing  fellows  in  the  last 
war ;  chiefly  from  the  West — all  marksmen,  who 
could  cut  off  a  squirrel's  head,  or  pick  out  the  pupil 
of  a  grenadier's  eye.  He  was  a  backwoodsman,  no 
doubt ;  six  feet  six,  with  red  whiskers,  and  an  eagle 
eye.  His  regimentals  had  caught  the  lady's  fancy  ; 
the  sex  loves  any  thing  in  uniform,  perhaps  because 
they  are  the  reverse  of  every  thing  that  is  uniform 
themselves.  The  lady  did  well  to  get  into  the 
Rifle  Regiment;  for  she  was  evidently  a  sharp- 
shooter, and  could  pick  off  an  officer,  when  so  dis- 
posed. What  an  eye  she  must  have  !  A  plague  on 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY.  97 

Captain   Johnson !     What  evil    genius   sent  him 
poaching  here?   Why  sport  his  gray  and    black 
among  the  pretty  Quaker  girls  of  Philadelphia? 
Why  could  not  the  Rifle  officers  enlist  their  wives 
elsewhere  ?    Or  why,  if  Philadelphia  must  be  rifled 
of  its  beauty — why  had  not  I  been  Captain  Johnson? 
When  a  man  begins  to  think  upon  a  subject  of 
which  he  knows  nothing,  there  is  no  end  of  it ;  for 
his  thoughts  not  having  a  plain  road  to  travel,  will 
shoot  off  into  every  by  path.     Thus  it  was,  that 
my  conjectures  wandered  from  the  captain  to  his 
lady,  and  from  the  lady  to  her  father.     What  an 
honest,  confiding  soul,  must  worthy  Obadiah  be, 
continued  I,  to  myself,  to  place  a  daughter,  so  es- 
timable, perhaps  his  only  child,  under  the  protec- 
tion  of   an  entire   stranger !     He   is   doubtless   a 
physiognomist.     I  carry  that  best  of  all  letters  of 
introduction,  a  good  appearance.     Perhaps  he  is  a 
phrenologist ;  but  that  cannot  be,  for  my  bumps, 
be  they  good  or  evil,  are  all  muffled  up.     After  all, 
the  worthy  man  might  have  made  a  woful  mistake. 
.  For  all  that  he  knew,  I  might  be  a  sharper  or  a 
senator,  a  plenipotentiary  or  a  pickpocket.    1  might 
be  Rowland  Stevenson  or  Washington  Irving — 1 
might  be  Morgan,  or  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  or  the 
Wandering  Jew.     I  might  be  a  vampyre  or  a  ven- 
triloquist.    1  might  be  Cooper  the  novelist,  for  he 
is  sometimes  "a  travelling  bachelor,"  or  1  might  be 
our  other  Cooper,  for  he  is  a  regular  occupant  of 
the  stage.     I  might  be  Captain  Sy names  going  to 
9 


98  THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

the  inside  of  the  world,  or  Mr.  Owen  going — ac- 
cording to  circumstances.  I  might  be  Miss  Wright — 
no,  1  couldn't  be  Miss  Wright — nor  if  I  was,  would 
any  body  be  guilty  of  such  a  solecism  as  to  ask 
Miss  Wright  to  take  charge  of  a  lady,  for  she  be- 
lieves that  ladies  can  take  charge  of  themselves. 
After  all,  how  does  Obadiah  know  that  I  am  not 
the  President  of  the  United  States?  What  a  mistake 
would  that  have  been  !  How  would  the  chief  ma- 
gistrate of  twenty-four  sovereign  republics  have 
been  startled  by  the  question,  "  Pray,  friend,  would 
it  suit  thee  to  take  charge  of  a  lady  ?" 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  I  indulged  in  this 
soliloquy  at  the  expense  of  politeness.  Not  at  all ; 
it  was  too  soon  to  intrude  on  the  sacredness  of  the 
lady's  quiet.  Besides,  however  voluminous  these 
reflections  may  seem  in  the  recital,  but  a  few 
minutes  were  occupied  in  their  production  ;  for 
Perkins  never  made  a  steam  generator  half  so  potent 
as  the  human  brain.  But  day  began  to  break,  and 
I  thought  it  proper  to  break  silence. 

"  It  is  a  raw  morning,  madam,"  said  J. 

"  Very  raw,"  said  she,  and  the  conversation  made 
a  full  stop. 

"The  roads  appear  to  be  rough,"  said  I,  return- 
ing to  the  charge. 

"  Very  rough,"  replied  the  lady. 

Another  full  stop. 

"  Have  you  ever  travelled  in  a  stage  before?"  1 
enquired. 


99 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  But  never  so  great  a  distance,  perhaps  ?" 

"  No,  never." 

Another  dead  halt. 

1  see  how  it  is,  thought  I.  The  lady  is  a  blue — 
she  cannot  talk  of  these  common  place  matters,  and 
is  laughing  in  her  sleeve  at  my  simplicity.  I  must 
rise  to  a  higher  theme  ;  and  then,  as  the  stage  rolled 
off  the  Schuylkill  bridge,  I  said,  "  We  have  passed 
the  Rubicon,  and  I  hope  we  shall  not,  like  the 
Roman  conqueror,  have  cause  to  repent  our  te- 
merity. The  day  promises  to  be  fair,  and  the 
omens  are  all  auspicious." 

"  What  did  you  say  about  Mr.  Rubicam  ?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Johnson. 

I  repeated  ;  and  the  lady  replied,  "  Oh  !  yes,  very 
likely,"  and  then  resumed  her  former  taciturnity. 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  Captain  Johnson  and  his  lady 
belong  to  the  peace  establishment.  Well,  if  the 
lady  does  not  choose  to  talk,  politeness  requires  of 
me  to  be  silent ;  and  for  the  next  hour  not  a  word 
was  spoken. 

I  had  now  obtained  a  glimpse  of  my  fair  com- 
panion's visage,  and  candour  compels  me  to  admit 
that  it  was  not  quite  so  beautiful  as  1  had  anticipated. 
Her  complexion  was  less  fair  than  1  could  have 
wished,  her  eye  was  not  mild,  her  nose  was  not 
such  as  a  statuary  would  have  admired,  and  her  lips 
were  white  and  thin.  I  made  these  few  observa- 
tions with  fear  and  trembling,  for  the  lady  repelled 


100  THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

my  enquiring  glance  with  a  look  of  defiance ;  a 
frown  lowered  upon  her  haughty  brow,  and  1  could 
almost  fancy  I  saw  a  cockade  growing  to  her  bon- 
net, and  a  pair  of  whiskers  bristling  on  her  cheeks. 
There,  thought  1,  looked  Captain  Johnson  of  the 
Rifle — fortunate  man !  whose  wife,  imbibing  the 
pride  and  courage  of  a  soldier,  can  punish  with  a 
look  of  scorn  the  glance  of  impertinent  curiosity. 

At  breakfast  her  character  was  more  fully  de- 
veloped. If  her  tongue  had  been  out  of  commis- 
sion before,  it  had  now  received  orders  for  active 
service.  She  was  convinced  that  nothing  fit  to  eat 
could  be  had  at  the  sign  of  the  "  Black  Horse,"  and 
was  shocked  to  find  that  the  landlord  was  a  Dutch- 
man. 

"  What's  your  name  ?"  said  she  to  the  landlady. 

"  Redheiffer,  ma'am." 

"  Oh  !  dreadful !  was  it  you  that  made  the  per- 
petual motion  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

Then  she  sat  down  to  the  table,  and  turned  up 
her  pretty  nose  at  every  thing  that  came  within  its 
cognizance.  The  butter  was  too  strong,  and  the 
tea  too  weak ;  the  bread  was  too  stale,  and  the 
bacon  fresh ;  the  rolls  were  heavy,  and  the  lady's 
appetite  light. 

"  Will  you  try  an  egg  ?"  said  I. 

«  I  don't  like  eggs." 

"  Allow  me  to  help  you  to  a  wing  of  this  fowl." 

"  I  can't  say  that  I'm  partial  to  the  wing." 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  XAivyy  i-01* 

"  A  piece  of  the  breast,  then,  madam  J!  >   • 

" It  is  very  tough,  isn't  it*?"-  :>\:..»  ::    -.':*•'. 

"  No,  it  seems  quite  tender." 

"  It  is  done  to  rags  I'm  afraid." 

"  Quite  the  reverse — the  gravy  follows  the  knife." 

"  Oh  !  horrible  !  it  is  raw  !" 

"  On  the  contrary,  1  think  it  is  done  to  a  turn ; 
permit  me  to  give  you  this  piece." 

"  1  seldom  eat  fowl,  except  when  cold." 

"  Then,  madam,  here  is  a  nice  cold  pullet — let 
me  give  you  a  merry-thought ;  nothing  is  better  to 
travel  on  than  a  merry  thought." 

"  Thank  you,  1  never  touch  meat  at  breakfast." 

And  my  merry  thought  flashed  in  the  pan. 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  your  lady  would  like  some  chipped 
beef,  or  some — •." 

"  This  is  not  my  lady,  Mrs.  Redheiffer,"  inter- 
rupted I,  fearing  the  appellation  might  be  resented 
more  directly  from  another  quarter. 

"  Oh  la !  I  beg  pardon ;  but  how  could  a  body 
tell,  you  know — when  a  lady  and  gentleman  travels 
together,  you  know,  it's  so  nateral." 

"  Quite  natural,  Mrs.  Redheiffer--." 

"  May  be,  ma'am,  you'd  fancy  a  bit  of  cheese,  or 
a  slice  of  apple-pie,  or  some  pumpkin  sauce,  or  a 
sausage,  or — " 

1  know  not  how  the  touchy  gentlewoman  would 

have  taken  all  this — I  do  not  mean  all  these  good 

things,  but  the  offer  of  them  ;  for  luckily  before  any 

reply  could  be  made,  the  stage  driver  called  us  off 

9* 


102 

with  his  horn.  As  I  handed  the  lady  into  the  stage, 
1' Ventured  to  ta*£  another  peep,  and  fancied  she 
looked  vulgar ;  but  how  could  1  tell  ?  Napoleon  has 
said,  there  is  but  a  step  between  the  sublime  and 
the  ridiculous ;  and  we  all  know  that  between  very 
high  fashion  and  vulgarity  there  is  often  less  than  a 
step.  Good  sense,  grace,  and  true  breeding  He 
between.  The  lady  occupied  one  of  those  ex- 
tremes, I  knew  not  which  ;  nor  would  it  have  been 
polite  to  enquire  too  closely,  as  that  was  a  matter 
which  more  nearly  concerned  Captain  Johnson  of 
the  Rifle,  who,  no  doubt,  was  excellently  we'll 
qualified  to  jndge  of  fashion  and  fine  women. 

By  this  time  the  lady  had  wearied  of  her  former 
taciturnity,  and  grown  loquacious.  She  talked  in- 
cessantly, chiefly  about  herself  and  her  "  Pa." 
"  Her  Pa  was  a  Quaker,  but  she  was  not  a  Quaker. 
They  had  turned  her  out  of  meeting  for  marrying 
Captain  Johnson.  Her  Pa  was  a  merchant — he 
was  in  the  shingle  and  board  line." 

Alas  !  I  was  in  the  bored  line  myself  just  then. 

Gentle  reader,  I  spare  you  the  recital  of  all  I  suf- 
fered during  that  day.  The  lady's  temper  was  none 
of  the  best,  and  travelling  agreed  with  it  but  in- 
differently. When  we  stopped  she  was  always  in 
a  fever  to  go  ;  when  going  she  fretted  continually 
to  stop.  At  meal  times  she  had  no  appetite ;  at  all 
other  times  she  wanted  to  eat.  As  one  of  the 
drivers  expressed  it,  she  was  in  a  solid  pet  the  whole 
day.  1  had  to  alight  a  hundred  times  to  pick  up 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY.  103 

her  handkerchief,  or  to  look  after  her  baggage;  and 
a  hundred  times  1  wished  her  in  the  arms  of  Cap- 
tain Johnson  of  the  Rifle.  I  bore  it  all  amazingly, 
however,  and  take  to  myself  no  small  credit  for 
having  discharged  my  duty,  without  losing  my  pa- 
tience, or  omitting  any  attention  which  politeness 
required.  My  companion  would  hardly  seem  to 
have  deserved  this ;  yet  still  she  was  a  female,  and 
1  had  no  right  to  find  fault  with  those  little  pecu- 
liarities of  disposition,  which  I  certainly  did  not 
admire.  Besides,  her  husband  was  a  captain  in 
the  army;  and  the  wife  of  a  gallant  officer  who 
serves  his  country  by  land  or  sea,  has  high  claims 
upon  the  chivalry  of  her  countrymen. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  Baltimore,  and  I  imme- 
diately called  a  hack,  and  desired  to  know  where  I 
should  have  the  pleasure  of  setting  down  my  fair 
companion. 

"  At  the  sign  of  the  Anchor, Street,  Fell's 

Point,"  was  the  reply. 

Surprised  at  nothing  after  all  I  had  seen,  I  gave 
the  order,  and  stepped  into  the  carriage.  "  Is  any 
part  of  the  Rifle  regiment  quartered  on  Fell's 
Point?"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  Does  not  your  husband  belong  to  that  regiment  ?" 

"  La !  bless  you,  no ;  Captain  Johnson  is'nt  a 
soldier?" 

"  I  have  been  under  a  mistake,  then.  1  under- 
stood that  he  was  a  captain  in  the  Rifle." 


104  THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

"  The  Rifleman,  Sir ;  he  is  captain  of  the  Rifle- 
man, a  sloop  that  runs  from  Baltimore  to  North 
Carolina,  and  brings  tar  and  turpentine,  and  such 
matters.  That's  the  house,"  continued  she,  "  And, 
as  I  live,  there's  Mr.  Johnson  up  and  well !" 

The  person  pointed  out  was  a  low,  stout  built, 
vulgar  man,  half  intoxicated,  with  a  glazed  hat  on 
his  head,  and  a  huge  quid  in  his  cheek.  "  How 
are  you,  Polly  ?"  said  he,  as  he  handed  his  wife  out, 
and  gave  her  a  smack  which  might  have  been  heard 
over  the  street.  "Who's  that  gentleman?  eh!  a 
messmate  of  yours?" 

"  That's  the  gentleman  that  took  care  of  me  on 
the  road?" 

"  The  supercargo,  eh  ?  Come  Mister,  light  and 
take  something  to  drink." 

I  thanked  the  captain,  and  prdered  the  carriage 
to  drive  off,  fully  determined,  tfiat  whatever  other 
imprudence  I  might  hereafter  be  guilty  of,  1  would 
never  again,  if  I  could  avoid  it,  "  take  charge  of  a 
lady." 


105 


THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN. 


One  day,  no  matter  when,  a  stranger  was  seen 
riding  slowly  through  the  streets  of  a  flourishing 
town  in  Tennessee.  He  was  a  well  dressed  good 
looking  young  man,  mounted  upon  what  in  this 
country  would  be  called,  "  the  best  kind  of  a  nag." 
His  appearance,  altogether,  was  respectable 
enough  ;  it  was  even,  as  respects  exteriors,  a  touch 
above  what  is  common  ;  and  he  would  have  passed 
along  unnoticed,  had  it  not  been  for  one  thing, 
which  excited  universal  attention.  Although  the 
streets  were  crowded  with  people,  and  the  fronts  of 
the  stores  adorned  with  fine  goods,  and  such  fancy 
articles  as  usually  attract  the  eye — the  stranger's 
gaze  was  fixed  on  vacancy ;  he  turned  his  head 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left ;  he  moved  not  lip 
nor  eye-lid  ;  but  rode  forward,  as  if  apparently  un- 
conscious, as  well  of  his  own  existence,  as  of  the 
presence  of  his  fellow  creatures. 


106  THE    PHILADELPHIA    DUN. 

It  was  court  week,  and  an  usual  concourse  of 
people  was  collected.  Here  was  the  judge,  with  a 
long  train  of  lawyers.  The  candidates  for  office 
were  here,  distributing  smiles  and  kindnesses,  and 
practising  all  those  popular  arts,  which  are  so  well 
understood  in  every  republican  country.  Here  was 
the  farmer,  clad  in  his  neatest  homespun,  and 
mounted  on  his  best  horse.  Here  was  the  hunter 
with  his  rifle.  Here,  in  short,  were  the  people ;  col- 
lected, some  for  pleasure,  and  some  for  business, 
exhibiting  that  excitement  of  feeling  which  crowds 
always  produce,  with  a  good  humour  which  is  only 
found  in  countries  where  all  are  free  and  equal. 
The  public  square  exhibited  a  scene  which  would 
have  been  amusing  to  one  unaccustomed  to  such 
displays  of  character.  At  one  spot  were  two 
neighbours  driving  a  bargain.  Unlike  the  people 
of  other  countries,  who  transact  such  business  in 
private,  they  were  surrounded  by  a  host  of  people, 
who  all  occasionally  threw  in  their  comments.  A 
stranger,  judging  from  the  sly  jokes,  the  loud  ban- 
tering, and  the  vociferous  laughter  which  passed 
round  the  circle,  would  not  have  supposed  that  any 
serious  business  was  in  hand  ;  a  resident  only  would 
infer,  that  before  this  little  circle  parted,  ahorse  would 
be  swapped,  a  crop  of  tobacco  sold,  or  a  tract  of  land 
conveyed.  Not  far  off,  was  a  set  of  politicians, 
settling  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  But  the  most 
amusing  individuals,  were  some  two  or  three,  who 
were  cavorting.  Now,  if  any  lady  or  gentleman  is 


THE    PHILADELPHIA    DUN.  107 

so  ignorant  of  the  American  language  as  not  to 
know  what  cavorting  is,  and  if  Webster's  celebrat- 
ed quarto  does  not  furnish  the  definition,  it  is  ne- 
cessary that  we  explain,  that  it  expresses  the  con- 
duct of  an  individual  who  fancies  himself  the  smart- 
est and  best  man  in  the  world.  On  the  present 
occasion,  a  fellow  might  be  seen,  dressed  in  a  hunt- 
ing shirt,  with  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  mounted,  half 
tipsy,  upon  a  spirited  horse,  and  dashing  through 
the  crowd.  Now  he  would  force  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  sides,  and  put  him  at  full  speed,  or  rein  him 
up  until  he  reared  on  his  hinder  feet ;  and  now  he 
would  command  him  to  stop,  and  the  obedient  ani- 
mal would  stand  and  tremble.  All  the  time  he 
was  ranting  and  roaring  in  praise  of  himself,  his 
horse,  and  the  United  States  of  America.  He 
boasted  that.he  was  born  in  the  woods,  rocked  in  a 
sugar  trough,  and  suckled  by  a  buffalo ;  that  he 
could  tote  a  steamboat,  and  outrun  a  streak  of 
lightning ;  that  his  wife  was  as  handsome  as  a  pet 
fawn,  and  his  children  real  roarers.  He  bestowed 
similar  encomiums  on  his  horse  ;  and  finally  avowed 
himself  to  be  a  friend  to  the  United  States  of  Ame- 
rica— and  then  he  commenced  again  and  went  over 
the  same  round,  flourishing  his  rifle  all  the  time, 
and  exerting  his  lungs  to  their  utmost.  Although 
he  often  declared  that  he  could  whip  any  man  in 
the  round  world,  except  Col.  C.  that  he  Jit  under 
at  New  Orleans,  nobody  accepted  the  challenge,  or 
took  offence  ;  the  whole  being  considered  as  a  mat- 


108  THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN. 

ter  of  course,  and  as  the  natural  effect  of  stimulant 
potations  upon  an  illiterate  man  of  ardent  tempera- 
ment, who,  when  duly  sober,  was  an  honest,  quiet, 
and  inoffensive  citizen. 

While  the  people  were  amused  at  the  vagaries  of 
this  wild  hunter,  or  engaged  in  conversation,  the 
sun  had  gone  down,  and  it  was  nearly  dusk  when 
the  moving  automaton,  described  in  the  commence- 
ment of  this  story,  rode  solemnly  into  the  town.  It 
is  customary  in  this  country  for  persons  who  meet, 
although  unacquainted,  to  salute  each  other,  and 
this  courtesy  is  especially  practised  towards  stran- 
gers ;  and  although  the  new  comer,  on  this  occa- 
sion, would  not  have  been  expected  to  address  each 
individual  in  a  crowded  street,  yet,  when  those  who 
were  nearest  nodded  or  spoke,  as  they  civilly  open- 
ed the  way,  they  were  surprised  to  see  the  horse- 
man's gaze. fixed  on  vacancy,  and  his  body  remain- 
ing as  erect  as  if  tied  to  a  stake. 

"  That  man's  asleep,"  said  one ; 

"  He's  as  blind  as  a  bat,"  said  another; 

"  I  reckon  he's  sort  o'  dead,"  exclaimed  a  third  : 

"  He  rides  an  elegant  nag,"  remarked  a  fourth;  and 
all  were  surprised  that  a  man,  who  was  apparently 
so  good  a  judge  of  a  horse,  had  not  wit  enough  to 
see  where  he  was  going,  or  to  know  who  were 
around  him. 

In  the  mean  while  our  traveller  moved  proudly 
on,  until  he  reached  the  best  inn;  a  fine  brick 
building,  presenting  every  indication  of  neatness, 


THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN.  109 

comfort,  and  even  luxury.  As  he  rode  up,  two 
well  fed  athletic  negroes,  with  visages  like  polished 
ebony,  and  teeth  as  white  as  snow,  rushed  forth, 
and  while  one  seized  his  bridle,  the  other  held  his 
stirrup  as  he  dismounted.  Still  the  automaton  re- 
laxed not  a  muscle  ;  but  drawing  up  his  body,  moved 
majestically  towards  the  house.  At  the  door  he  was 
met  by  the  landlord,  a  portly  welldressed  man,  with  a 
fine  open  countenance,  who  had  been  honoured  by 
his  fellow  citizens  with  several  civil  appointments, 
and  had  even  commanded  some  of  them  in  the 
field,  in  times  of  peril.  He  touched  his  hat  as  he 
welcomed  the  stranger,  and  invited  him  into  his 
house  with  an  air  of  dignity  and  hospitality.  A 
servant  took  his  surtout,  and  several  gentlemen 
who  were  seated  round  the  fire,  pushed  back  their 
chairs  to  make  way  for  the  stranger.  But  all  these 
things  moved  not  the  automaton ;  the  glazed  eye 
and  compressed  lip  were  still  fixed,  and  the  chin 
remained  in  the  cushion  of  an  immense  cravat. 
After  a  momentary  pause,  the  gentlemen  in  the 
room  resumed  their  conversation,  the  landlord  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  business  of  his  house,  and  the 
silent  traveller  was  consigned  to  the  oblivion  which 
he  seemed  to  covet ;  and  excited  no  more  attention 
except  from  an  honest  backwoodsman,  who  strolled 
in  to  take  a  peep,  and  after  gazing  at  him  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  suddenly  clapped  his  hands, 
and  exclaimed  to  1m  companion,  "  It  moves,  Bill ! 
10 


110  THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN. 

if  it  a'nt  alive,  I'll  agree  to  go  a-foot  as  long  as  1 
live." 

By  this  time  candles  were  lighted,  and  the  silent 
gentleman  seemed  to  grow  weary  of  silence.  He 
now  rose  and  strutted  across  the  apartment  with  a 
very  important  stride.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
about  two  and  twenty  ;  of  ordinary  height,  and  less 
than  ordinary  thickness.  His  person  seemed  to  be 
compressed  with  corsets,  and  his  head  was  support- 
ed by  the  ears  upon  a  semicircle  of  stiffened  linen, 
which  occupied  the  place  of  a  shirt  collar ;  and  all 
his  habiliments  announced  him  to  the  eyes  of  the 
curious,  as  a  genuine  specimen  of  that  singular 
genus,  the  dandy.  After  taking  several  turns 
through  the  apartment,  he  drew  forth  his  gold  re- 
peater, and  opening  his  mouth  for  the  first  time, 
exclaimed  in  a  peremptory  tone,  *'  Landlord  !  I  want 
supper!"  "  You  shall  have  it,  sir,"  said  the  land- 
lord,  with  a  bow,  and  winking  at  the  same  time  at 
the  other  guests,  "  we  had  supped  when  you  arriv- 
ed, but  will  not  detain  you  many  minutes." 

In  a  short  time,  supper  was  announced,  and  the 
stranger  was  shown  into  a  back  room,  handsomely 
furnished,  where  a  neat  elderly  matron  presided  at 
the  head  of  a  table,  spread  with  tea,  coffee,  bread, 
cakes,  beef,  pork,  bacon,  venison,  fowls,  and  all  that 
profusion  of  eatables  with  which  western  ladies  de- 
light to  entertain  their  guests.  Near  her  sat  a 
young  lady,  modestly  attired,  in  the  bloom  of  youth 
and  beauty,  whose  easy  manners  and  engaging  ap- 


THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN.  Ill 

pearance,  might  have  warmed  any  heart  not  callous 
to  the  charms  of  native  elegance.  Now,  indeed, 
our  dandy  opened  both  mouth  and  eyes  to  some 
purpose.  Scarcely  deigning  to  return  the  sa- 
lutation of  his  hostess,  he  commenced  the  work  of 
havoc — fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  vanished  before  him  ; 
his  eye  roved  from  dish  to  dish,  and  then  wandered 
off  to  the  young  lady ;  now  he  gazed  at  a  broiled 
chicken,  and  now  at  the  fair  niece  of  the  landlord 
— but  which  he  liked  best,  I  am  unable  to  say — 
the  chicken  seemed  to  go  off  very  well,  but  on  the 
subject  of  the  damsel  he  never  opened  his  mouth. 

Returning  again  to  the  silting  apartment,  he 
found  the  same  set  of  gentlemen  whom  he  had  left 
there,  still  engaged  in  conversation.  They  were 
the  judge,  the  lawyers,  and  other  intelligent  men  of 
the  country,  who  were  not  a  little  amused  at  the 
airs  of  our  dandy.  Again  they  opened  their  circle 
to  receive  him,  but  his  eyes,  his  mouth,  and  his 
heart,  if  he  had  one,  were  closed  against  every 
thing  but  the  contemplation  of  his  own  important 
self.  After  drawing  his  boots,  picking  his  teeth, 
and  puffing  a  segar,  he  again  opened  his  mouth, 
with,  "  Landlord  !  I  want  to  go  to  bed  !" 

"  Whenever  you  please,  sir." 

"  1  want  a  room  to  myself,  sir !" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  that  will  be,"  replied  the 
landlord,  "  my  house  is  full,  and  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  put  you  in  the  room  with  some  of  these 
gentlemen." 


112  THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN. 

"  I  can't  go  it,  sir !"  replied  the  dandy,  strutting 
up  and  down ;  "  never  slept  in  a  room  with  any 
body  in  my  life,  sir  !  and  never  will !  must  have  a 
room,  sir !" 

The  landlord  now  laughed  outright  at  the  airs  of 
the  coxcomb,  and  then  said,  very  good  humouredly, 
"  Well,  well,  I'll  go  and  talk  with  my  wife,  and  see 
what  we  can  do." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  landlord,  as  he  entered  the 
supper  room,  u  here's  a  man  who  says  he  must  have 
a  room  to  himself." 

"  What,  that  greedy  little  man,  in  corsets  ?" 

«  The  same." 

"Set  him  up  with  a  room!"  exclaimed  the  landlady. 

"  He  is  a  trifling  fellow,"  said  the  landlord,  "  but 
if  we  can  accommodate  the  poor  little  man,  we 
had  better  do  so." 

The  lady  professed  her  readiness  to  discharge 
the  rights  of  hospitality,  but  declared  that  there  was 
not  a  vacant  apartment  in  the  house. 

"  Give  him  my  room,  aunt,"  said  the  pretty 
niece,  "  I  will  sleep  with  the  children,  or  any 
whereyou  please."  The  young  lady  was  a  visitor,  and 
a  great  favourite  ;  and  the  elder  lady  was  altogether 
opposed  to  putting  her  to  any  discomfort,  particu- 
larly on  account  of  such  a  rude  man.  But  the 
niece  carried  her  point,  and  arrangements  were 
made  accordingly. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  silent  man  was  conducted 
by  the  landlord  to  a  very  handsomely  furnished 


THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN.  113 

apartment  in  the  back  part  of  the  house.  Every 
thing  here  was  of  the  best  and  neatest  kind.  A 
suit  of  curtains  hung  round  the  bed,  the  counter- 
pane was  white  as  snow,  and  the  bed  linen  was 
fresh  and  fragrant.  The  dandy  walked  round  the 
room,  examining  every  thing  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  fancied  his  life  in  danger  from  some  contagious 
disease,  or  venomous  reptile.  He  then  threw  open 
the  bed  clothes,  and  after  inspecting  them,  exclaim- 
ed, "  I  can't  sleep  in  that  bed !" 

"  Why  not,  sir  ?"  enquired  the  astonished  landlord. 

"  It's  not  clean !  I  can't  sleep  in  it !"  repeated 
the  dandy,  strutting  up  and  down  with  the  most 
amusing  air  of  self  importance,  "  1  wouldn't  sleep 
there  for  a  thousand  dollars  !" 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,1'  said  the  landlord ; 
"  you  are  not  aware  that  1  keep  the  best  house  in 
all  this  country,  and  that  my  wife  is  famed  for  the 
cleanliness  of  her  house  and  beds  !" 

"  Can't  help  it,"  replied  the  dandy,  very  delibe- 
rately surveying  himself  in  a  mirror,  "  very  sorry, 
sir — awkward  business  to  be  sure — but  to  be  plain 
with  you,  I  wont  sleep  in  a  dirty  bed  to  please  any 
man." 

"  You  won't,  won't  you  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  not." 

"  Then  1  will  make  you,"  said  the  landlord,  and 

seizing  the  astonished  dandy  by  the  back  of  the 

neck,  he  led  him  to  the  bed,  and  forced  his  face 

down  upon  it — "  look  at  it,"  continued  the  enraged 

10* 


114  THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN. 

Tennessean,  "examine  it — smell  it — do  you  calf 
that  bed  dirty,  you  puppy !"  Then  going  to  the 
door,  he  called  to  a  servant  to  bring  a  horsewhip  ; 
and  informed  the  terrified  dandy,  that  unless  he 
undressed  and  went  to  bed  instantly,  he  should 
order  his  negro  to  horsewhip  him.  In  vain  the 
mortified  youngster  promised  to  do  all  that  was  re- 
quired of  him  ;  the  landlord  would  trust  nothing  to 
his  word,  but  remained  until  his  guest  was  disrob- 
ed, corsets  and  all,  and  snugly  nestled  under  the 
snow-white  counterpane. 

It  was  nearly  breakfast  time  when  the  crest  fal- 
len stranger  made  his  appearance  in  the  morning. 
To  his  surprise,  his  steed,  who  had  evidently  fared 
as  well  as  himself,  stood  ready  saddled  at  the  door. 
"  Pray,  sir,"  said  he  to  his  host,  in  a  very  humble 
tone,  and  in  a  manner  which  showed  him  at  a  loss 
how  to  begin  the  conversation,  "pray,  sir,  at  what 
hour  do  you  breakfast  ?" 

"  We  breakfast  at  eight,"  was  the  reply,  "  but 
the  question  is  one  in  which  you  can  have  lit- 
tle interest ;  for  you  must  seek  a  meal  elsewhere." 

"  Surely,  my  dear  sir,  you  would  not  treat  a  gen- 
tleman with  such  indignity .'* 

"  March  !"  said  the  landlord. 

u  My  bill ." 

"  You  owe  me  nothing  ;  I  should  think  myself  de- 
graded by  receiving  your  money." 

In  another  moment,  the  self  important  mortal, 
who,  the  evening  before,  had  ridden  through  the 


THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN.  115 

town  with  such  a  consciousness  of  his  own  dignity, 
was  galloping  away,  degraded,  vexed,  and  humbled. 
As  he  passed  along,  the  same  backwoodsman,  who 
had  gone  to  ascertain  the  fact  of  his  vitality  on  his 
first  arrival,  met  him,  and  pulling  off  his  hat,  said, 
very  civilly,  "  Stranger,  your  girth  is  under  your 
horse  !"  The  dandy  reined  up  his  steed,  jumped 
off,  and  found  that  his  girth  was  indeed  under  his 
horse — where  it  ought  to  be. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me?"  exclaimed  he, 
turning  fiercely  upon  the  backwoodsman  ;  but  the 
latter,  instead  of  replying,  coolly  remarked  to  his 
companions,  "  If  it  an't  alive,  I'll  agree  to  be  shot ;" 
and  walked  on. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man  ?*'  enquired  the  judge 
of  the  circuit  court,  as  the  stranger  rode  off. 

"He  is  a  Philadelphia  dun,"  replied  the  land- 
lord. 

"  I  am  no  wiser  than  before,"  said  his  honour. 

"  Have  you  lived  in  our  country  so  long,  and  not 
know  this  race  of  men  ?  Sir,  they  are  the  collectors, 
sent  out  by  eastern  merchants,  to  collect  their 
debts.  Although  they  come  from  different  cities, 
they  all  go  under  one  general  denomination  ;  some 
of  them  are  fine  young  men,  but  too  many  are  like 
yonder  chap." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  this  to  be  one  of  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  I  know  them  well.  I  read  the  his- 
tory of  that  youth,  in  his  motions,  before  he  was  in 
my  house  five  minutes.  One  year  ago  he  could 


116  THE  PHILADELPHIA  DUN. 

bow  and  smile  like  a  French  dancing  master,  skip 
over  a  counter,  and  play  as  many  tricks  as  a  pet 
monkey.  He  is  just  out  of  his  apprenticeship,  pro- 
moted to  the  dignity  of  a  dun,  and  mounted  on  a 
fine  horse,  and  you  know  the  old  proverb,  "  set  a 
beggar  on  horseback — " 

"  I  understand  the  whole  matter,"  replied  the 
judge,  and  very  gravely  walked  into  the  house, 
while  the  younger  members  of  the  bar  were  roar- 
ing with  laughter  at  this  odd  adventure  of  the  Phi- 
ladelphia dun. 


117 


THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 


Shortly  after  the  defeat  of  the  British  army  at 
Fort  Erie,  in  the  brilliant  sortie  planned  and  execut- 
ed by  General  Brown,  that  officer  received  intelli- 
gence that  General  Izard  was  on  his  way  to  join 
him  with  a  large  force.  A  few  weeks  sooner,  this 
intelligence  would  have  been  highly  gratifying.  The 
American  army,  hemmed  in  by  a  foe  whose  num- 
bers more  than  quadrupled  their  own,  had  been 
placed  in  an  embarrassing  situation.  The  fort  was 
situated  on  low  flat  ground,  and  the  season  being 
very  wet,  the  constant  tramping  of  so  many  men  had 
converted  the  whole  place  into  one  great  mud  pud- 
dle; the  garrison  who  were  lodged  in  tents,  were 
exposed  to  continual  rains;  there  was  no  spot  se- 
cure from  the  elements,  and  a  dry  vestment,  bed, 
or  blanket,  was,  at  times,  not  to  be  found  within 
our  line  of  sentinels  ;  while  the  frequent  alarms,  and 


118       THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

the  necessary  "watch  and  ward"  left  only  inter- 
vals for  that  broken  slumber  which  refreshes  not. 
But  little  pay,  if  any,  had  been  received  during  the 
campaign — money  there  was  absolutely  none — and 
our  diet  was  necessarily  confined  to  the  ration  of 
meat  and  bread,  which  was  not  of  the  best  kind. 
The  perpetual  shower  of  cannon  balls  and  bursting 
of  bomb-shells  was  not  a  matter  of  complaint,  for 
this  was  soldier's  luck  ;  to  be  shot  at  was  our  voca- 
tion ;  and  as  we  failed  not  to  amuse  ourselves  at  the 
batteries  during  a  part  of  every  day,  we  had,  at  least, 
the  satisfaction  of  believing  that  our  fallen  compan- 
ions would  not,  like  Scipio's  ghost,  "stalk  unre- 
venged  among  us."  But  nestling  in  the  mire,  and 
starving  and  coughing  our  lungs  away,  were  matters 
which  had  not  entered  into  our  contract  with  the 
government,  and  on  which  our  commissions,  as  well 
as  the  "  rules  and  articles,"  were  silent.  It  was  not 
SO  "  nominated  in  the  bond."  Why  could  not  Un- 
cle Sam  send  us  food,  and  physic,  and  a  few  lusty 
fellows  to  help  us  fight  ?  Where  there  are  no  super- 
fluous men,  every  one  who  falls  leaves  a  niche ;  and 
while  we  beheld  our  little  force  gradually  wasting 
away,  it  was  provoking  enough  to  reflect  that  our 
country  was  full  of  men,  some  of  whom  abused  us, 
some  laughed  at  us,  a  few  praised  and  none  assisted. 
I  may  add,  that  the  foe  had  vowed  our  extermina- 
tion, and  on  one  occasion  had  marched  up  to  our 
batteries,  filling  the  air  with  the  dreadful  war  cry — 
"  no  quarter — no  quarter  to  the  d — d  Yankees !!" 


THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES.       119 

and  that  noble  spirit  of  emulation,  that  generous 
contention,  and  courteous  interchange  of  kindly 
offices  upon  proper  occasions,  which  should  exist 
among  civilized  armies,  were  all  swallowed  up  in 
the  deep  hate  excited  by  the  cold-blooded  cruelty 
of  the  enemy.  As  war,  disease,  and  the  doctor, 
daily  thinned  our  ranks,  it  seemed  evident,  that  un- 
less supplies  should  arrive,  we  must  become  the 
victims  of  that  unrelenting  barbarity,  of  which  our 
fellow  citizens,  on  various  occasions,  have  had  suffi- 
cient experience.  Our  country,  however,  still  for- 
got us,  and  I  know  not  what  would  have  become  of 
us,  had  it  not  been  for  one  kind-hearted  gentleman. 
He  was  a  Quaker  gentleman  ;  and  the  Quakers,  you 
know,  are  famed  for  benevolence.  Slipping  out  of 
the  Fort  one  day,  about  noon,  when  John  Bull  nev- 
er dreamed  of  such  a  matter,  he  dexterously  cut  off 
about  a  third  of  their  army,  and  by  that  "  free  use  of 
the  bayonet,"  which  the  British  commander  had 
recommended  upon  a  recent  occasion,  he  saved  his 
own  credit,  and  the  throats  and  scalps  of  his  men, 
who  filled  the  air  with  acclamations.  The  enemy, 
completely  defeated,  retired  ;  and  General  Brown, 
not  having  force  enough  to  pursue,  could  only  make 
his  bow,  and  wish  them  good  bye. 

At  this  juncture  a  despatch  arrived,  announcing 
that  General  Izard  had  left  Plattsburg;  was  to  em- 
bark at  Sackett's  Harbour,  and  passing  up  the  lake, 
touch  at  the  mouth  of  the  Eighteen  Mile  Creek, 
whence  his  course  would  be  directed,  in  a  great 


120       THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

measure,  by  the  intelligence  he  might  receive  from 
General  Brown.  It  was  desirable,  therefore,  that 
he  should  be  met  at  that  point  by  an  officer  from 
Fort  Erie,  who  could  advise  him  of  the  exact  situa- 
tion of  the  garrison,  and  the  relative  positions  and 
srength  of  the  two  contending  armies,  and  convey 
the  communications  of  General  Brown.  A  young 
artillery  officer  was  accordingly  summoned  to  the 
general's  quarters,  and  after  receiving  the  neces- 
sary instructions,  he  was  ordered  to  get  himself  in 
readiness  to  set  out  immediately.  "General  Izard 
must  be  met,"  said  the  commander,  "  at  the  hour  he 
has  appointed :  can  you  reach  the  place  by  that 
time?"  "  Oh,  yes,  certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  young 
artillerist,  "  though  1  must  confess  that  I  neither 
know  the  route  nor  the  distance."  The  General 
smiled,  named  the  distance,  hastily  indicated  the 
route,  and  reminding  his  envoy  thaUhere  was  barely 
time  left  to  accomplish  the  journey  by  the  most  ra- 
pid riding,  wished  him  a  pleasant  jaunt. 

The  Bearer  of  Despatches  crossing  an  arm  of  the 
lake,  which  separates  Fort  Erie  from  Buffalo,  re- 
paired to  the  quarter  master  to  procure  a  horse, 
and  being  well  mounted,  departed  early  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  same  day.  Two  routes  were  presented 
to  his  choice ;  the  one  was  the  main  road  which  led 
by  Batavia,  and  was  too  circuitous  to  be  travelled 
within  the  allotted  time  ;  the  other  was  an  unfre- 
quented, but  more  direct  path,  which,  leading  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Fort  Niagara,  then  in  possession  of 


THE  BEARER  OP  DESPATCHES.       121 

the  enemy,  was  fraught  with  danger :  but  it  was  ne- 
cessarily chosen.  A  large  cloak  disguised  the  per- 
son of  our  soldier,  concealing  his  arms  and  military 
insignia  ;  and  he  hoped  under  the  cover  of  night,  to 
pass  the  vicinity  of  the  Fort  unobserved.  By  rapid 
riding  he  reached  the  neighbourhood  of  Schlosser  a 
little  before  sunset,  and  being  unwilling  to  approach 
Queenstown  early  in  the  evening,  he  checked  his 
horse  and  rode  leisurely  along.  Cooped  up,  as  he 
had  been,  he  now  enjoyed  with  an  exquisite  relish 
the  luxuries  of  pure  air,  exercise,  and  liberty.  His 
route  lay  along  the  margin  of  the  Niagara  river, 
which  now  separated  him  from  those  glorious  fields 
which  had  been  so  recently  drenched  in  gore,  and 
in  which  American  valour  had  been  so  conspicuous- 
ly displayed.  A  few  weeks  before,  he  had  passed 
along  the  opposite  shore  in  all  the  fervour  of  youth- 
ful hope  and  military  pride,  surrounded  by  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  glorious  war,  by  the  tumult 
and  glitter  of  an  army  with  flying  colours,  and  drums 
and  hearts  beating.  Now  the  solitary  horseman 
rode  alone  ;  the  breeze  bore  not  the  accents  of  men, 
nor  did  the  distant  echo  whisper  danger  in  his  ear, 
but  his  eye  dwelt  upon  scenes  of  interest ;  well 
known  spots  occasionally  glanced  upon  his  vision : 
here  an  army  had  been  encamped,  there  a  battle 
fought,  and  under  those  trees  slept  many  a  compa- 
nion !  The  last  rays  of  the  sun  fell  upon  his  back, 
and  the  trees  threw  their  gigantic  shadows  along  the 
path  before  him.  At  such  an  hour  the  eye  is  most 
11 


122       THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

delighted  with  the  beauties  of  a  wild  landscape, 
when  the  nooks,  and  glens,  and  secluded  places  be- 
gin to  darken  into  the  gloom  of  twilight,  while  the 
sun-beams  still  glitter  on  the  hills  and  tree-tops,  or 
sleep  upon  the  waves.  The  Niagara  was  rippling 
along  its  rocky  channel,  murmuring  and  fretting  as 
it  rushed  towards  the  precipice,  over  which  its  de- 
scent causes  one  of  the  sublimest  objects  in  nature. 
These  circumstances  all  combined  to  wrap  the  heart 
of  the  traveller  in  sweet  and  pleasing  meditation ; 
and  he  rode  on,  enjoying  those  dreams,  which,  creep- 
ing imperceptibly  into  young  hearts,  hold  the  ima- 
gination entranced  in  delight ;  in  irresistible  delu- 
sions, full  of  rapture,  variety,  and  beauty.  The 
hour  was  witching,  the  scene  picturesque,  the  very 
air  melodious;  and  the  realities  around  him  became 
mellowed,  and  softened,  and  spiritualised  into  airy 
creations  of  the  fancy.  The  mind,  warmed  into  ro- 
mantic feeling,  gave  its  own  hue  to  the  surrounding 
objects  ;  rude  and  familiar  things  took  to  themselves 
wings  and  flew  away ;  vulgar  associations  were  ban- 
ished ;  the  scenery  disposed  itself  into  shapes  and 
shades  of  beauty  ;  bright  and  varied  colours  fell 
upon  the  landscape  ;  creatures  of  fancy  peopled  the 
shade,  and  the  breeze  murmured  in  numbers. 

Our  officer  halted  a  moment  at  Schlosser  to  make 
some  enquiries  relative  to  his  route,  and  learning 
that  a  countryman  had  just  passed  along,  whose 
homeward  path  led  in  the  very  direction  desired, 
he  determined  to  profit  by  his  company  and  guid- 


THE  BEARER  OP  DESPATCHES.  123 

ance.  Spurring  his  steed,  therefore,  he  rode 
rapidly  on.  Near  the  Falls,  he  overtook  the  boor, 
plodding  heavily  along.  He  was  a  man  whose 
general  outline  announced  him  to  be  of  the  middle 
age ;  but  his  visage  placed  him  in  the  decline  of 
life.  Dissipation  had  probably  anticipated  the  pal- 
sying touch  of  time,  had  wrinkled  his  face,  and  slight- 
ly tinged  his  hair  with  the  frosty  hue  of  winter.  His 
bloodshot  eyes  gave  proof  of  habitual  intemperance; 
but  there  was  speculation  in  them,  and  a  vile  spe- 
culation it  was;  it  was  the  keen,  cunning,  steady 
glance  of  one  who  in  his  time  had  cut,  shuffled,  and 
dealt,  who  could  slip  a  card,  and  knew  where  the 
trumps  lay.  With  this  was  mingled  the  dulness  of 
an  illiterate  man,  and  the  good  humour  of  one  who 
was  willing  to  be  amused,  and  meant  no  harm  to 
others.  Saving  the  besetting  sin  above  alluded  to, 
and  perhaps  the  occasional  passing  of  a  counterfeit 
bill  upon  strong  temptation,  a  small  matter  for  a 
frontier  man,  he  might  have  been  a  right  honest  fel- 
low ;  one  who  knew  the  courtesies  and  good  feel- 
ings of  life,  passed  the  cup  merrily,  would  do  a 
neighbourly  act  when  it  came  in  his  way,  never  beat 
his  wife  when  he  was  sober,  nor  troubled  his  chil- 
dren when  they  kept  out  of  his  way.  Such  at  least 
was  the  estimate  which  our  young  soldier  formed 
of  his  companion,  during  their  subsequent  ride  to- 
gether, to  which  it  is  only  necessary  to  add,  that  he 
seemed  to  have  recently  parted  from  good  liquor, 
and  to  have  attained  that  precise  point  of  elation, 


124        THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

which  is  well  understood  in  every  polite  circle  by 
the  phrase,  a  little  high. 

When  the  two  riders  encountered,  they  scruti- 
nised each  other  with  that  jealous  caution  which  com- 
monly passed  between  strangers  who  met  in  those 
dangerous  times,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  hostile  ar- 
mies. The  cautious  question  and  the  guarded  an- 
swer passed  mutually,  until  each  had  learnt  as  much 
as  he  could,  and  disclosed  as  much  as  he  pleased. 
Our  officer  announced  himself  as  a  storekeeper, 
who  had  been  to  the  army  to  make  a  traffic  with 
thesuttlers,  having  failed  in  which,  he  was  now  re- 
turning home  in  haste,  by  a  route  which  he  was 
told  was  nearer  than  the  main  road,  and  wished  to 
get  that  night  to  a  place  called .  The  coun- 
tryman lived  at  that  very  place,  was  now  going  home, 
although  it  was  still  upwards  of  sixteen  miles  dis- 
tant, and  he  said  he  would  be  glad  of  our  traveller's 
company. 

They  reached  the  Falls  while  daylight  yet  linger- 
ed over  the  awful  abyss,  and  the  officer,  who  had 
beheld  this  wonderful  sight  from  the  opposite  shore, 
proposed  to  his  companion  to  halt,  that  he  might 
survey  it  under  a  new  aspect.  The  latter,  who 
seemed  in  no  haste,  cheerfully  complied,  and  even 
seemed  pleased  with  the  oppportunity  of  acting  the 
Cicerone,  and  detailing  all  the  wonderful  tales  ex- 
tant, in  relation  to  the  great  cataract.  He  did  not, 
it  is  true,  relate  that  surprising  fact  which  Goldsmith 
has  recorded,  and  Morse  has  copied  from  him,  i.  e. 


THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES.       125 

that  the  Indians  descend  these  rapids  in  their 
canoes,  in  safety ;  because,  notwithstanding  this  cir- 
cumstance is  vouched  for  by  two  celebrated  doc- 
tors, great  amateurs  in  rivers,  winds,  and  mountains, 
the  vulgar  give  it  no  credit,  and  the  natives  deny  it. 
Strange  infatuation,  that  the  assertions  of  philoso- 
phers should  not  be  believed,  in  preference  to  our 
own  erring  senses  and  crude  notions  of  probability  ! 
When  our  officer  mentioned  this  story  to  his  guide, 
he  exclaimed,  "Impossible!  the  man's  sartainly 
cracked  !"  And  had  he  told  the  same  individual 
that  Dr.  Mitchel  had  said  that  a  whale  was  not  a 
fish,  he  would  have  expressed  a  similar  astonishment; 
so  incredulous  is  ignorance,  so  unwillingly  does  it 
bow  to  science  and  research.  For  my  part,  1  make 
it  a  rule  never  to  quarrel  with  a  philosopher,  and 
am  therefore  willing  to  admit  that  it  is  not  only  a 
safe  but  a  remarkably  salubrious  and  amusing  re- 
creation to  paddle  a  canoe  down  the  Falls  and  back 
again. 

Leaving  this  spot,  the  officer  was  conducted  by 
his  guide  to  another  object  of  admiration.  A  short 
distance  below  the  cataract,  the  river,  rushing  along 
with  the  immense  velocity  acquired  by  being  preci- 
pitated from  so  great  a  height,  suddenly  strikes  a 
perpendicular  precipice,  which  juts  boldly  into  the 
stream  from  the  American  side,  and  the  current  thus 
thrown  abruptly  to  the  left,  creates  a  whirlpool, 
which  is  not  the  least  among  the  curiosities  of  this 
region.  The  officer  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the 
11* 


126         THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

cliff,  and  gazed  in  silence  on  the  foaming  current 
and  its  overhanging  banks,  now  dimly  discovered 
through  the  gray  twilight.  His  reveries  were  bro- 
ken by  his  companion,  who  narrated  a  melancholy 
tale  connected  with  the  scene  of  their  contempla- 
tion. Many  years  ago,  when  all  of  this  country 
was  in  possession  of  the  British,  a  detachment  of 
troops,  having  under  their  convoy  a  number  of  fami- 
lies with  their  furniture  and  baggage,  were  overta- 
ken by  night  in  this  vicinity.  They  still  proceeded, 
however,  in  hopes  of  reaching  the  forts  below.  But 
the  French  and  Indians  had  formed  an  ambuscade 
at  this  very  spot,  and  just  as  the  devoted  party  were 
passing  along  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  the  savage 
foe  rushed  on  them  with  hideous  yells.  Those 
alone  who  have  heard  the  soul-thrilling  cry  of  the 
Indian  warrior,  who  have  heard  it  breaking  through 
the  gloom  of  the  night,  with  all  its  horrible  accom- 
paniments, with  the  wail  of  infants,  and  the  shrieks 
of  women,  with  the  groans  of  the  dying,  the  prayers 
and  curses  of  the  living,  those  only  can  conceive  the 
horror  of  such  a  moment.  In  vain  the  troops  en- 
deavoured to  resist — the  tomahawk  was  drenched 
in  blood — the  European  heard  the  dreadful  war- 
cry,  and  felt  that  it  was  his  knell ;  he  received  the 
fatal  blow  from  an  unseen  hand,  and  had  not  the 
stern  pleasure  of  beholding  his  antagonist,  but  fell 
without  the  gratification  of  avenging  his  death,  or 
the  honour  of  defending  his  life.  Still  the  foe 
pressed  on ;  with  the  war-whoop  were  mingled  loud 


THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES.       127 

shouts  of  triumph  and  the  laugh  of  demoniac  exulta- 
tion; the  soldiers  gave  back,  the  horses,  panic- 
struck,  fled  from  the  din  of  battle,  and  in  a  moment 
were  precipitated  into  the  yawning  gulf;  men,  wo- 
men, and  children  followed,  and  the  whole  of  this 
unhappy  party  slept  that  night  under  the  wave.  "  It 
is  said,"  continued  the  informer,  "  that  their  spirits 
may  still  be  seen  of  a  moonlight  night,  dancing  in 
circles  in  yonder  whirling  place,  where  the  water 
goes  round  so  rapidly — and  now,  see  there !  what  is 
that  ?"  The  officer  looked  in  the  direction  designa- 
ted by  the  finger  of  his  companion,  and  beheld  a 
black  object  in  the  whirlpool,  rising  a  foot  or  two 
above  the  surface  of  the  water,  circulating  rapidly 
with  it,  and  gradually  approaching  the  centre,  until 
it  was  swallowed  in  the  vortex.  He  could  easily 
imagine  that  the  trunks  and  boughs  of  trees,  floating 
down  the  current,  might  be  drawn  into  the  pool, 
and  whirling  round  with  the  velocity  of  the  water, 
might  assume  an  upright  position,  and  present  the 
appearance  which  alarmed  the  inhabitants,  and  gave 
probability  to  their  conjectures.  I  have  never  been 
altogether  satisfied  with  this  sophism  of  my  friend. 
It  is  not  possible  at  this  time  to  ascertain  the  true 
character  of  the  apparition  which  he  beheld,  nor  is 
it  my  business,  as  a  faithful  historian,  to  risk  my 
reputation  by  giving  a  positive  opinion  upon  the 
subject :  yet  I  must  remark,  that  1  have  no  reason, 
nor  had  my  military  friend  any,  to  induce  a  belief 
that  this  was  not  as  genuine  and  as  honest  a  ghost  as 


128        THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

ever  was  beheld  by  mortal  eyes.  The  fact  is,  that 
this  young  gentleman  had  lately  seen  so  many  of 
his  fellow  mortals  despatched  prematurely  to  their 
graves,  that  his  mind  had  become  familiarised  with 
death,  and  in  his  dealings  with  substantial  dangers 
he  had  acquired  a  contempt  for  unreal  shadows.  I 
am  glad,  however,  to  be  able  to  add  that  he  had  the 
discretion  to  conceal  his  scepticism  from  his  fellow 
traveller,  to  whose  remark  he  gravely  replied,  "  that 
human  bodies  when  not  decently  buried  seldom 
rested  in  peace,  but  that  he  had  never  heard  of  their 
doing  any  harm."  His  companion  assented  to  the 
truth  of  this  sagacious  remark,  and  they  pursued 
their  journey. 

These  conversations  having  banished  reserve, 
and  the  companions  beginning  to  grow  into  confi- 
dence with  each  other,  the  officer  ventured  to  en- 
quire how  near  their  route  would  lead  to  Fort  Ni- 
agara, and  learnt  that  they  must  pass  within  a  short 
distance  of  that  fortress.  Concealing  his  sense  of 
the  danger  which  this  information  implied  to  his 
person  and  mission,  he  said  carelessly,  "Well,  I  sup- 
pose they  will  not  disturb  peaceable  travellers  ?" 
"Sometimes  they  do,  and  sometimes  they  don't," 
was  the  reply.  "  Do  they  ever  get  out  as  far  as 
your  little  village?"  " Oh,  yes,  often. "  "And  how 
do  they  behave  there  ?"  "  Bad  enough,  bad  enough," 
and  he  then  proceeded  to  narrate  a  number  of  par- 
ticulars, showing  how  these  petty  marauders  des- 
troyed their  property,  insulted  their  women,  and 


THE  BEARER    OP  DESPATCHES.  129 

bullied  their  men,  adding  to  the  most  monstrous  acts 
of  cruelty  and  oppression,  the  meanness  of  picking 
locks  and  pilfering  trifles.  It  was  by  no  means  a 
matter  of  pleasing  reflection  to  the  Bearer  of  Des- 
patches, that  he  must  rest  that  night,  if  he  rested  at 
all,  under  a  roof  subject  to  these  domiciliary  visits  : 
but  he  had  other  causes  of  uneasiness.  It  is  well 
known  that  all  the  inhabitants  within  reach  of  an 
English  garrison,  who  are  capable  of  corruption,  be- 
come corrupt.  English  gold,  which  is  but  a  bug- 
bear among  the  virtuous,  presents  a  tempting  lure 
to  the  loose  and  unprincipled  inhabitants  of  a  fron- 
tier, who  can  scarcely  be  said  to  belong  to  any 
country ;  and  our  armies  sometimes  encountered 
spies  and  traitors,  where  they  had  fondly  hoped  to 
find  friends.  On  this  occasion,  our  officer,  who  had 
incautiously  placed  himself  under  the  guidance  of  a 
stranger,  began  to  feel,  as  darkness  gathered  around 
him,  that  he  had  acted  imprudently,  as  the  latter 
could  as  easily  conduct  him  to  Fort  Niagara  as  to  a 
place  of  safety.  He  concealed  his  suspicions,  and 
determined  to  act  warily. 

It  was  dark  when  they  reached  Lewistown,  a 
little  village  which  had  been  entirely  reduced  to 
ashes  by  the  enemy.  The  moon,  which  now  shone 
brightly,  disclosed  the  solitary  chimneys  standing 
amidst  the  ruins,  the  fruit-trees  surrounded  by  bri- 
ars, the  remains  of  enclosures,  and  all  the  marks  of 
desolation.  A.  more  beautiful  situation  could  scarce- 
ly be  imagined,  but  it  was  now  a  wilderness.  Here 
they  took  a  path  which  led  them  from  the  river.  A 


130        THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES. 

thick  forest  now  overshadowed  them,  and  they  pro- 
ceeded in  silence  and  wrapped  in  impenetrable 
darkness,  except  at  intervals,  when  they  reached 
the  summit  of  a  hill,  and  the  moon  shot  her  beams 
through  the  branches.  It  was  only  by  seizing  such 
opportunities  to  watch  the  progress,  and  mark  the 
exact  position  of  this  friendly  luminary,  that  our 
officer,  by  forming  some  estimate  of  the  course  he 
was  pursuing,  could  judge  of  the  fidelity  of  his  guide. 
They  passed  an  encampment  of  the  Tuscarora  In- 
dians, where  all  was  dark  and  silent ;  and  about  mid- 
night arrived  at  the  place  of  destination,  which, 
though  characterised  as  a  village,  was  composed  of 
only  two  or  three  log  cabins.  To  one  of  these, 
which  was  dignified  with  the  name  of  a  public 
house,  our  traveller  was  conducted  by  his  compa- 
nion, who  apologized  for  not  inviting  him  to  his  own 
house,  owing  to  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  the 
want  of  accommodations. 

Mine  host,  though  called  from  his  bed,  cheerfully 
assisted  his  guest  in  putting  away  his  tired  horse, 
and  then  led  him  through  a  room  where  three  or  four 
rough  two-fisted  fellows  lay  snoring  with  their  feet 
to  the  fire,  to  a  chamber  on  the  upper  floor.  Sup- 
per he  declined,  as  well  from  policy,  as  from  want 
of  appetite  ;  and  having  secured  the  door,  and  laid 
his  pistols  under  his  pillow,  he  gathered  his  cloak 
around  him,  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed.  From 
a  light  slumber  he  was  waked  by  a  low  murmur  of 
voices  in  the  apartment  below,  to  which  the  preca- 
riousness  of  his  situation  induced  him  to  listen  with 


THE  BEARER  OF  DESPATCHES.  131 

an  intense  and  thrilling  interest.  Then  a  footstep 
was  heard  upon  the  stairs  ascending  slowly  towards 
his  apartment,  and  in  a  moment  afterwards  the  latch 
was  cautiously  raised.  He  rose,  seized  his  arms, 
and  walked  across  the  floor ;  the  footstep  retired, 
the  voices  ceased  below,  and  all  was  silent.  Our 
officer  loved  his  life  as  dearly  as  other  men,  but  it 
will  only  be  attributing  to  him  on  this  occasion  the 
feelings  of  his  profession,  to  suppose  that  he  felt 
more  anxiety  for  his  honour,  and  the  success  of  his 
enterprise.  His  broken  slumbers  yielded  but  little 
refreshment  during  the  remainder  of  the  night ;  and 
before  the  first  gray  streak  illumined  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, he  arose,  and  stole  forth  with  noiseless  steps, 
passed  the  snoring  borderers,  and  in  a  moment 
breathed  the  free  fresh  air.  His  horse  was  soon 
equipped,  and  mounting,  he  rode  to  the  door, 
summoned  his  host,  who  was  the  first  to  hear  his 
loud  halloo.  Surprised  to  find  his  guest  in  the 
saddle,  he  made  no  reply  to  his  repeated  demand  to 
know  his  fare ;  but  stepping  forward,  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  bridle.  "  Hands  off,  my  friend,"  said  the 
soldier,  "  my  horse  is  ticklish  about  the  head." 
"  Light,  sir,  light!"  said  the  host,  "  and  take  a  dram 
before  you  go,  it's  a  raw  morning," — and  still  held 
the  rein.  At  this  moment  other  faces  appeared  at 
the  door ;  the  officer  liked  neither  their  company 
nor  their  looks,  and  dropping  a  piece  of  money  at 
the  landlord's  feet,  he  struck  the  spurs  into  the  side 
of  his  steed,  and  dashed  off  in  a  gallop,  leaving  all 
danger  behind. 


132 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 


The  reader  who  has  ever  been  in  the  pleasant 
town  of  Herkimer  in  New  York,  may  know  some- 
thing of  Johnny  Vanderbocker,  a  neat,  square  built 
Dutch  lad,  who  was  a  great  favourite  among  the 
ladies  of  that  place,  a  few  years  back,    The  reason 
of  his  popularity  with  the  fair,  I  could  never  exactly 
learn  ;  for  he  was  the  most  uncomely  youth  that  a 
traveller  could  meet  between  Albany  and  Buffalo. 
Perhaps  it  might  have  been  in  consequence  of  his 
expectations  ;  for  his  father,  who  was  a  baker,  was 
said  to  have   several  hundreds  of  silver  dollars, 
locked  up  in  an  oaken  chest  which  stood  by  his  bed- 
side ;  and  as  he  had  always  permitted  John  to  roam 
about  the  village,  without  paying  the  least  attention 
to  his  education  or  conduct,  it  seemed  very  evident 
that  he  intended  to  make  him  his  heir.     Perhaps  it 
might  have  been  owing  to  his  good  nature  ;  for  to 
tell  the  truth,  there  was  not  a  better  tempered  lad 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  133 

in  the  whole  country.  Whatever  else  might  be 
said  in  disparagement  of  John,  all  admitted  that  he 
was  a  well  conditioned  creature,  and  had  not  the 
least  harm  in  him.  He  would  lie  for  hours,  under 
the  shade  of  a  great  willow  which  stood  before  his 
father's  door,  looking  at  the  sky,  or  crawl  about  the 
grass,  hunting  for  four-leafed  clover ;  and  no  change 
in  the  weather,  nor  other  cross  accident,  was  ever 
known  to  disturb  his  serenity.  In  this  respect  he 
was  a  fair  example  of  the  influence  of  circum- 
stances ;  for,  having  been  raised — as  we  say  in  the 
west — by  a  baker,  it  was  naturally  to  be  expected 
that  his  heart  should  be  light. 

After  all,  he  might  owe  his  favour  with  the  fe- 
male public  to  his  musical  abilities,  which  were 
certainly  remarkable.  When  quite  small,  he  was 
an  adept  at  playing  on  the  Jews-harp,  and  the  boys 
and  girls  would  crowd  around  him  to  listen  to  his 
melody,  as  if  he  had  been  another  Orpheus.  As 
he  grew  older,  he  took  to  the  violin,  and  his  ser- 
vices began  to  be  in  request. '  A  man  may  always 
fiddle  his  way  through  this  world  ;  no  matter  whe- 
ther he  play  for  love  or  money,  whether  he  is  a 
hired  musician,  or  an  amateur ;  fiddling  is  a  gen- 
teel, popular,  and  profitable  employment.  Johnny 
was  now  a  regular  and  an  acceptable  visiter  at  all 
the  tea  parties,  quiltings,  and  house  raisings,  in  and 
around  the  town,  and  never  did  any  human  being 
fill  a  station  with  more  propriety,  than  he  did  the 
responsible  post  of  fiddler.  By  nature  he  was 
12 


134  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

taciturn,  a  lover  of  sleep,  a  healthy  eater,  and  fond 
of  an  inspiring  beverage;  qualifications  which,  if 
they  be  not  proofs  of  musical  genius,  may  at  least 
be  set  down  as  the  appropriate  accomplishments  of 
a  connoisseur  in  the  science  of  sweet  sounds. 
Seated  in  an  easy  chair,  for  he  loved  a  comfortable 
position,  he  would  throw  back  his  head,  close  his 
eyes,  open  his  huge  mouth,  and  fiddle  away  for  a 
whole  night,  without  exhibiting  the  least  sign  of 
vitality,  except  in  his  elbow  and  his  fingers.  Often 
when  a  dance  was  ended,  he  would  continue  to 
play  on  until  admonished  that  his  labours  were  un- 
necessary ;  but  when  a  new  set  took  the  floor,  it 
was  only  requisite  to  give  Johnny  a  smart  jog,  and 
off  he  went  again  like  a  machine  set  in  motion. 
When  refreshments  were  brought  him,  he  poured 
into  the  vast  crater  which  performed  the  functions 
of  a  mouth,  whatever  was  offered ;  and  more  than 
once  has  he  swallowed  the  contents  of  an  inkstand, 
smacked  his  lips  over  a  dose  of  Peruvian  bark,  or 
pronounced  a  glass  of  sharp  vinegar  "humming 
stuff." 

Thus  passed  the  halcyon  days  of  Johnny  Van- 
derbocker,  until  the  completion  of  his  twenty-first 
year,  when  an  event  occurred  which  entirely 
changed  the  tenor  of  his  life.  This  was  no  other 
than  the  decease  of  his  worthy  parent  the  baker, 
who  was  suddenly  gathered  to  his  fathers,  on  a 
cold  winter  evening  while  Johnny  was  fiddling  at  a 
neighbouring  fair.  The  news  startled  our  hero 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  135 

Hke  the  snapping  of  a  fiddle-string.  He  returned 
with  a  heavy  heart  to  his  paternal  mansion,  and 
retired  to  rest  somewhat  consoled  by  the  reflection, 
that  although  he  had  lost  a  parent,  he  had  become 
master  of  the  rolls.  He  laid  aside  his  amusements 
to  follow  the  remains  of  the  honest  baker  to  their 
last  receptacle.  For  a  wonder,  he  remained  wide 
awake  the  whole  day,  and  slept  quietly  in  his  bed 
the  whole  of  the  ensuing  night.  On  the  following 
morning  he  unlocked  the  oaken  chest,  emptied  the 
contents  of  several  greasy  bags  on  the  floor,  count- 
ed them  over  eagerly,  and  then  determined — to 
buy  a  new  violin. 

In  his  new  situation,  many  cares  pressed  upon 
the  attention  of  our  hero.  Letters  of  administra- 
tion had  to  be  taken  out,  the  stock  in  trade  and 
the  implements  of  his  ancestor  to  be  sold,  debts  to 
be  collected,  and  debts  to  be  paid ;  and  before  a 
week  elapsed,  the  heir  at  law  acknowledged  that 
the  gifts  of  fortune  are  not  worth  the  trouble  they 
bring.  His  new  suit  of  black  imposed  an  unwont- 
ed constraint  upon  him.  He  could  no  longer 
roll  upon  the  grass,  for  fear  of  soiling  his  clothes, 
and  he  was  told  it  would  be  wrong  to  fiddle  at  the 
dances  while  he  was  in  mourning. 

When  an  old  man  gets  into  trouble,  he  is  apt  to 
betake  himself  to  the  bottle;  when  a  young  one 
becomes  perplexed,  he  generally  turns  his  atten- 
tion to  matrimony.  Thus  it  was  with  Johnny, 
who,  in  those  golden  and  joyous  days,  when  he 


136  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

had  nothing  to  do  but  to  sleep  and  eat  and  play  the 
fiddle,  never  dreamed  of  the  silken  fetter.  But 
when  care  and  trouble,  and  leather  bags,  and  silver 
dollars,  and  black  broadcloth,  came  upon  him,  he- 
thought  it  high  time  to  shift  a  portion  of  the  bur- 
then of  his  existence  upon  some  other  shoulders. 

I  must  now  apprise  the  reader,  that  although  my 
hero  had  never  thought  of  marriage,  it  was  only 
because  he  was  too  single-minded  to  think  of  two 
things  at  once.     He  had  not  reached  the  mature 
age  of  one  and  twenty,  untouched  by  the  arrows 
of  the  gentle  god.     In  love  he  had  been,  and  at  the 
precise  point  of  time  to  which  we  have  brought 
this  veracious  history,  the  tender  passion  was  blaz- 
ing in  his  bosom,  as  kindly  and  as  cheerfully  as  a 
Christmas  fire.     Its  object  was  a  beautiful  girl  of 
nineteen,  who  really  did  great  credit  to  the  taste  of 
the  enamoured  musician.     She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  widow  lady  of  respectable  connections,  but 
decayed  fortune — the  damaged  relic  of  a  fashiona- 
ble spendthrift.     Lucy  Atherton,  the  young  lady  in 
question,  had  beauty  enough  to  compensate  for  the 
absence  of  wealth,  and  a  sufficient  portion  of  the 
family  inheritance  of  pride  to  enable  her  to  hold 
her  head  quite  as  high  as  any  belle  in  the  village. 
Indeed,  she  made  it  a  point  to  take  precedence 
wherever  she  went,  and  as  she  did  this  without  the 
least  appearance  of  ill  nature,  and  without  display- 
ing   any    self-important    airs,    but    rather    as    a 
matter    of    course,    it    seemed     to    be    univer- 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  137 

sally  conceded  to  her.  She  was  the  reigning 
beauty  of  the  village — the  prettiest,  the  gayest,  and 
the  most  graceful  of  the  maiden  train  who  danced 
to  the  music  of  Johnny  Vanderbocker's  violin.  In 
the  dance  she  was  grace  personified.  It  was  a 
treat  to  behold  her  laughing  face,  her  lovely  form, 
and  her  light  step,  as  she  flew  with  joyous  heart 
and  noiseless  foot  through  the  mazes  of  the  contra- 
dance.  Now  it  happened  to  Johnny  occasionally 
to  shut  his  mouth  and  open  his  eyes,  just  at  the 
dangerous  moment  when  Miss  Atherton  was  engag- 
ed in  these  captivating  performances,  and  he  must 
have  been  the  most  churlish  of  all  Dutchmen,  not 
to  have  been  fascinated.  She  was  in  the  habit, 
too,  of  leading  off  the  sets,  and  the  choice  of  the 
air  was  generally  dictated  by  her  taste.  On  such 
occasions  she  would  address  our  hero  with  the 
most  winning  grace,  and  in  tones  of  the  sweetest 
euphony,  ask  Mr.  Vanderbocker  for  "  that  delightful 
tune  which  he  played  so  charmingly."  Accustom- 
ed to  the  appellation  of  plain  "  Johnny"  from 
every  other  tongue,  the  title  of  Mister,  conveyed  in 
such  honeyed  accents,  fell  pleasantly  upon  his  ear, 
and  whether  the  fair  lady  was  actuated  by  self- 
respect,  or  by  a  respect  for  Johnny,  the  effect  was 
to  make  him  her  fast  friend.  The  fact  was,  that 
Miss  Atherton  had  an  art,  which  some  ladies  exer- 
cise as  skilfully  as  some  gentlemen,  and  which  is 
found  among  distinguished  belles  as  often  as  among 
ambitious  men; — I  mean  that  universal  courtesy 
12* 


138  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

which  gains  for  its  possessor  the  good  will  of  all 
ranks — that  ready  smile,  and  pleasant  phrase,  and 
convenient  bow.  which,  like  a  panacea,  suits  all  oc- 
casions. In  statesmen  this  desirable  accomplish- 
ment is  the  result  of  judicious  training ;  in  hand- 
some women  it  is  an  instinct,  connected  with  that 
love  of  applause,  which  is  almost  inseparable  from 
beauty. 

Often  would  Johnny  surprise  the  company,  by 
keeping  his  eyes  open  for  whole  minutes  together, 
as  the  lovely  vision  of  Lucy  Atherton  flitted  before 
him.  The  fire  would  flash  from  his  eye,  and  the 
blood  rush  from  his  heart  to  his  elbow,  as  he  gazed 
in  ecstasy  at  the  loveliest  dancer  in  the  village—- 
his fingers  fell  with  renewed  vivacity  upon  the 
tuneful  strings,  and  the  very  violin  itself  seemed  to 
melt  in  sympathy,  and  gave  forth  softer,  and  mel- 
lower, and  gayer  tones.  Then  would  he  close  his 
eyes,  and  having  laid  in  an  agreeable  idea,  feed 
upon  it  in  secrecy,  as  a  stingy  boy  devours  a  dain- 
ty morsel  in  some  hidden  corner.  With  his  string- 
ed instrument  rattling  away  like  a  locomotive 
engine,  apparently  unconscious  of  any  animal  pro- 
pulsion, his  mouth  wide  open,  his  visage  devoid  of 
expression,  and  the  whole  outward  man  reposing 
in  death-like  torpidity,  he  was  dreaming  of  Lucy 
Atherton — his  heart  was  beating  time  to  the  imagi- 
nary motion  of  her  feet,  as  her  form  floated  and 
whirled,  up  the  sides  and  down  the  middle,  cross 
over,  and  right  and  left,  through  every  nook  and 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  139 

corner  of  his  bosom.  But  either  because  this 
image  was  too  dearly  cherished  to  be  shared  with 
another,  or  too  faintly  shadowed  out  to  be  altoge- 
ther intelligible  to  himself,  he  kept  his  own  counsel 
so  closely,  that  none  could  have  suspected  the  ob- 
ject of  his  thoughts,  or  have  pronounced  with  the 
slightest  shadow  of  reason,  that  he  had  any 
thoughts  at  all — except  upon  one  occasion,  when 
Miss  Lucy  Atherton  having  gone  through  a  scam- 
per down  with  uncommon  spirit,  he  exclaimed 
with  great  emotion,  that  she  was  "a  dreadful  nice 
dancer." 

Yet  with  all  this  devotion  of  heart,  and  with 
feelings  that  vibrated  to  every  echo  of  Lucy's  feet, 
there  was  not  a  single  chord  of  association  in  the 
mind  of  Johnny  Vanderbocker,  which  connected 
the  image  of  Miss  Atherton  with  the  idea  of  wed- 
lock. On  the  contrary,  having  seldom  seen  her 
except  on  high  days  and  holidays,  when  she  shone 
as  a  bright  peculiar  star  in  the  constellation  of  vil- 
lage beauty,  her  name  was  engraven  on  the  same 
tablet  on  which  was  recorded  his  agreeable  recol- 
lections of  in-fairs,  quiltings,  tiddle-strings,  minced 
pies,  egg-flip,  and  hot  spiced  gingerbread.  All 
these  good  things  came  together,  and  with  them  al- 
ways came — Lucy  Atherton.  When  therefore  the 
notion  of  a  wife  came  into  his  head,  it  was  like  the 
intrusion  of  a  comet  into  the  solar  system,  disturb- 
ing the  regular  economy  of  nature,  and  eclipsing 
the  other  orbs  by  its  brilliancy.  It  entirely  unset- 


140  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

tied  the  well-ordered  succession  of  his  thoughts, 
which  commonly  moved  on  from  point  to  point  as 
regularly  as  the  hands  of  a  watch.  "A  wife  !" — 
quoth  he,  casting  a  look  of  silly  bashfulness  all 
around,  as  if  afraid  of  detection — "  A  wife !" — ex- 
claimed he  a  second  time,  laughing  aloud  as  at  the 
absurdity  of  such  a  proposition — "  A  wife  !" — mut- 
tered he  again, — and  then  the  image  of  Lucy 
Atherton  came  dancing  before  him.  The  greatest 
discoveries  have  been  the  result  of  accident,  the 
happiest  invention  is  but  the  felicitous  application 
of  a  known  power  to  a  novel  purpose;  and  equally 
fortuitous  was  that  train  of  thought  in  the  mind  of 
our  hero,  which  united  his  own  destiny  with  that 
of  the  fashionable  and  admired  Lucy  Atherton. 
The  thought  was  ecstatic  ;  it  brought  a  glow  to  the 
heart  of  Johnny,  such  as  seldom  beams  upon  the 
high  latitude  of  a  Dutchman's  breast,  and  he  re- 
solved to  become,  forthwith,  a  candidate  for  the 
hand  of  the  village  belle. 

Great  designs  give  unwonted  energy  to  the  cha- 
racter. Idle  and  timid  as  our  hero  usually  was, 
the  idea  of  marrying  Lucy  Atherton  awakened  him 
to  a  new  being.  His  conceptions  were  enlarged, 
his  resolution  quickened,  and  all  his  senses  strung 
anew,  and  he  was  as  different  a  man  from  what  he 
was  an  hour  before,  as  a  stringless  violin  is,  from  the 
same  instrument  properly  attirpd  and  screwed  into 
tune.  He  felt  his  importance  increased,  his  no- 
tions of  happiness  expanded,  and  his  whole  sphere 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  141 

of  existence  extended  and  beautified.  He  consi- 
dered the  matter  settled.  "  Me  and  Lucy  will  just 
suit,"  said  he  to  himself.  "  She  dances  prime,  and 
I  take  it,  I  can  outfiddle  the  world."  It  never  oc- 
curred to  him  that  the  lady  would  make  any  objec- 
tion to  the  arrangement. 

How  could  she?  for  Johnny  was  possessed  of 
the  only  two  things  which  he  considered  absolutely 
necessary  to  enjoyment ;  music  and  money.  What 
more  could  a  lady  want  ?  "  And  then,"  thought 
he,  "  I'm  not  the  worst-looking  fellow  in  the  coun- 
try, and  this  is  not  such  a  bad  house  neither,  and 
three  hundred  dollars,  and  the  bake*-shop,  is  no 
trifle."  Johnny  capered  round  the  room  in  great 
glee,  and  one  of  his  companions  coming  in  at  this 
moment,  he  embraced  him,  and  said,  "  Don't  you 
wish  me  joy  ?" 

"  For  what  ?"  enquired  his  friend. 

"  O  I'm  so  happy !" 

"  Is  it  your  father's  death  that  pleases  you  so 
much?" 

"  O  no !  I'm  going  to  be  married." 

"Indeed!  Who  to?" 

"  Ah,  that 's  a  secret ;  I  ha  n't  told  her  about  it 
yet,  but  I  know  she'll  have  no  objection." 

The  next  morning  found  our  hero  at  a  neigh- 
bouring shop,  purchasing  a  variety  of  trinkets  and 
clothing,  for  the  decoration  of  his  ungainly  person. 
A  purple  watch  ribbon,  a  pink  silk  neckcloth,  and 
a  huge  breastpin  which  struck  him  as  peculiarly 


142  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

tasty  and  appropriate,  were  borne  off  in  triumph 
and  these,  together  with  a  scarlet  velvet  waistcoat, 
of  the  proper  goods  and  chattels  of  the  late  Her- 
man Vanderbocker  deceased,  which  came  to  the 
hands  of  the  said  John  to  be  administered,  were 
severally  arranged  in  their  respective  stations ;  and 
the  worthy  amateur,  adorned  with  a  dazzling  ele- 
gance, to  which  he  had  until  that  time  been  a 
stranger,  placed  his  fiddle  triumphantly  under  his 
arm,  and  marched  boldly  to  the  dwelling  of  the 
widow  Atherton. 

It  is  necessary  to  explain  in  this  place,  that  in 
calling  our  hero  a  fiddler,  we  have  never  meant  to 
insinuate  that  he  played  for  money.  He  was  as 
much  above  such  mercenary  considerations,  as  any 
other  lover  of  the  fine  arts.  He  was  an  amateur. 
That  delicate  discrimination  of  sounds,  which  ena- 
bles its  happy  possessor  to  arrange  the  vibrations 
of  coarse  strings  and  fine  ones  into  harmony,  and 
that  love  of  melodious  tones  and  skilful  combina- 
tions, which  distinguish  the  musician,  and  of  which 
the  writer  of  this  history  has  not  the  faintest  con- 
ception, all  belonged  to  Johnny.  He  was  a  wel- 
come visiter  at  all  the  parties  in  the  village,  be- 
cause he  played  cotillions  and  contra-dances  with 
"  accuracy  and  despatch,"  and  moreover  not  only 
rendered  such  services  gratuitously,  but  with  the 
utmost  good  humour.  Whoever  else  was  omitted, 
on  any  such  occasion,  Mr.  Vanderbocker  was  sure 
to  receive  a  formal  card,  or  a  hearty  invitation,  as 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  143 

the  case  might  require.  Of  course  he  was  receiv- 
ed as  an  equal  in  every  circle,  and  had  access  to 
the  best  spciety  in  the  village;  a  privilege  which 
he  seldom  used,  but  which  permitted  him  on  the 
present  occasion  to  tap  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton  with  the  air  of  a  familiar  friend. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Atherton,"  said  our  hero, 
as  he  entered  the  widow's  parlour,  "  Good  morn- 
ing. How  's  Lucy  ?" 

The  lady,  surprised  at  this  unwonted  familiarity 
in  the  son  of  the  village  baker,  raised  her  specta- 
cles, and  having  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment  in 
mute  astonishment,  haughtily  replied  that  Miss 
Atherton  was  well.  Johnny  was  glad  to  hear  tt ; 
but  before  he  could  express  his  joy,  the  offended 
parent  stalked  out,  and  the  young  lady  herself  glid- 
ed in.  "  She  don't  know  what  1  came  for,  or 
she  'd  be  more  civil,"  thought  Johnny,  as  he  looked 
after  the  proud  widow — but  the  entrance  of  the 
daughter  changed  the  current  of  his  reflections. 

"  How  d'  ye  do,  Lucy  ?"  said  the  amateur. 

Lucy  was  thunderstruck.  The  young  man  had 
never  before  addressed  her  in  such  a  strain ;  but 
she  had  too  much  self-possession  to  betray  the  least 
embarrassment ;  for  a  reigning  belle  can  generally 
command  her  feelings  with  as  much  success  as  a 
veteran  politician.  She  returned  his  salutation, 
therefore,  with  the  utmost  sweetness  and  ease  of 
manner,  and  took  her  seat,  inwardly  resolving  to 
penetrate  into  the  cause  of  .the  strange  revolution 


144  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

which  a  few  hours  had  made  in  the  dress  and  ad- 
dress of  her  visiter.  Arrayed  in  the  simple  ele- 
gance of  a  morning  dress,  and  adorned  with  youth, 
health,  and  beauty,  she  bent  gracefully  over  her 
work,  and  never  looked  prettier  than  at  this  mo- 
ment, when  an  inquisitive  archness  was  added  to 
the  usually  intelligent  expression  of  her  counte- 
nance. For  the  present,  however,  her  curiosity 
was  balked ;  for  Johnny,  who  really  meant  only  to 
show  his  tenderness,  and  had  already  advanced  to 
the  utmost  bounds  of  his  assurance,  began  to  falter. 
The  courage,  which  had  sustained  him  thus  far, 
and  which  some  have  insinuated  was  borrowed 
from  a  source  that  our  temperance  societies  would 
hardly  approve,  was  fast  evaporating ;  and  after 
sitting  some  time  in  silence,  playing  with  his  purple 
watch-ribbon,  he  drew  his  violin  from  its  green  bag, 
and  enquired  whether  Miss  Atherton  would  "  fancy 
a  tune." 

The  young  lady  declared  that  it  always  afforded 
her  infinite  pleasure  to  listen  to  Mr.  Vanderboc- 
ker's  delightful  music  ;  and  in  an  instant  the  musi- 
cal machine  started  into  action — the  head  fell 
back,  the  mouth  yawned,  the  eye-lids  closed,  and 
Johnny,  the  best  and  drowsiest  of  fiddlers,  added 
a  new  proof,  that  even  the  tender  passion  is  not 
sufficiently  powerful  to  overcome  inveterate  habit. 
But  love  did  not  entirely  quit  the  field,  or  abandon 
his  votary,  who  opened  his  eyes  at  intervals,  and 
bowed  and  smirked  upon  his  fair  auditress  in  a 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  145 

manner  not  to  be  mistaken,  while  between  the  dif- 
ferent airs  he  would  enquire  if  the  last  tune  was 
not  "  cruel purty^  or  "  desparatejine^  or  "  elegant- 
er  than  all  the  rest." 

Music,  which  has  charms  to  "  soothe  the  savage 
breast,"  seems  to  have  operated  differently  on  that 
of  the  young  lady  on  this  occasion  ;  for  the  antique 
velvet  vest,  the  pink  neckcloth,  the  smirking,  the 
bowing,  and  above  all,  the  short  naps  which  her 
visitor  seemed  to  enjoy  with  such  complacency, 
were  altogether  so  irresistibly  ludicrous,  that  in 
spite  of  her  endeavours  to  suppress  it,  she  was 
compelled  to  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  Johnny^ 
who  very  properly  considered  this  as  an  unequivo- 
cal expression  of  delight,  was  overjoyed  at  his  suc- 
cess, and  adding  his  own  bass  to  the  melodious 
tenor  of  his  fair  companion,  shook  the  room  with 
peals  of  obstreperous  mirth. 

Thus  ended  the  first  act  of  this  comedy.  The 
second  commences  with  a  sprightly  dialogue. 
Johnny,  who  had  now  found  his  tongue,  opened 
the  conversation  by  asking  "  Lucy"  if  she  did  not 
think  he  ought  to  be  married. 

u  Undoubtedly,  Mr.  Vanderbocker,"  was  the  re^ 
ply ;  "  nothing  could  be  more  proper ;  provided  you 
believe  that  marriage  would  conduce  to  your  hap* 
piness." 

*'  I  do  n't  know  as  1  should  be  any  happier,  but 
somehow  1  think  1  should  be  better  contented." 

"Then  you  ought  certainly  to  marry,  for  con- 
13 


146  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

tentment  is  the  chief  ingredient  in  the  cup  of  hap- 
piness." 

"  I  shall  quit  drinking  entirely,"  continued  the 
lover,  who  misunderstood  the  last  position  of  the 
lady. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Sobriety  is  very  becom- 
ing ;  particularly  in  married  men." 

"And  who  do  you  think  I  ought  to  have." 

"  O  dear !  1  cannot  tell,  indeed.  That  is  a  deli- 
cate question ;  and  perhaps  it  might  be  necessary 
to  determine  first  who  would  have  you." 

"  I  guess,  a'most  any  of  'em  would  be  glad  to 
catch  at  me,"  replied  the  swain ;  "  for  father  's  left 
me  a  snug  house,  and  three  hundred  dollars  in  sil- 
ver, besides  the  bake-shop." 

"  Quite  a  fortune,  I  declare  !"  exclaimed  Lucy. 

"  To  be  sure  there  's  some  that  's  richer  than 
me,  and  some  better  looking,"  continued  Johnny, 
glancing  at  the  mirror  which  hung  opposite  to  him  ; 
"  but  then  you  know,  Miss  Lucy — " 

— "  That  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no  bread," 
added  the  young  lady,  ironically. 

"  Yes— just  so — that  's  my  idee  to  a  notch,  a  half 
bread,  as  you  say,  is  better  than  no  loaf,  and  so — 
three  hundred  dollars  and  a  house  and  lot — " 

"And  gentle  Mr.  Vanderbocker  into  the  bargain, 
would  be  a  comfortable  lot  for  any  lady.  Surely 
the  girls  in  Herkimer  ought  not  to  hesitate,  for  the 
temptation  is  very  great !" 

"  An't  it?"  exclaimed  Johnny,  in  a  tone  of  exul- 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  147 

tation.  "  I  guess  it  is  !"  he  added,  answering  his 
own  question.  "  It  is  n't  every  gal  that  gets  such 
a  chance.  Now  I  '11  tell  you  a  secret,"  continued 
he,  lowering  his  voice — "  if  you  '//  have  me,  it  's 
all  your  own,  me  and  the  fiddle,  the  three  hundred 
dollars,  the  hake-shop,  and  all !" 

"The  impudent  fellow  !"  thought  Lucy  ;  but  she 
had  the  politeness  and  good  sense  to  suppress  that 
thought.  A  lady  is  never  seriously  offended  with 
the  swain  who  offers  to  marry  her;  for  however 
humble  may  be  the  source  from  which  the  propo- 
sition emanates,  it  is  still  a  compliment.  Lucy's 
list  of  conquests  was  tolerably  long  for  blooming 
nineteen,  and  the  name  of  Johnny  would  add  but 
little  dignity  to  the  train  ;  yet  truth  obliges  me  to 
record  that  a  slight  blush,  and  a  very  slight  toss  of 
the  head,  with  a  glance  at  the  mirror,  showed  that 
the  tribute  of  admiration  was  not  unwelcome  even 
from  our  hero.  She  civilly,  but  peremptorily  de- 
clined the  honour  which  he  had  intended  for  her, 
and  adding,  "  You  must  excuse  me  now,  sir,  I  have 
other  engagements,"  left  the  room. 

"  Other  engagements !"  thought  Johnny,  "  that 
means  that  she  is  going  to  be  married  to  somebody 
else.  What  a  dunce  was  1  not  to  speak  first!" 
And  he  retired,  deeply  chagrined,  and  not  a  little 
puzzled,  that  a  young  lady  of  marriageable  age  and 
sound  discretion,  who  was  not  worth  a  cent,  should 
refuse  a  neat  cottage,  a  bake-shop,  and  three  hun- 
dred dollars,  with  the  slight  incumbrance  of  himself 


148  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

and  a  violin,  for  no  better  reason  than  that  she  had 
made  a  previous  engagement  with  another  gentle- 
man ! 

Had  there  been  a  mill-pond  at  Mrs.  Atherton's 
front  door,  our  hero  would  undoubtedly  have 
drowned  himself;  and  it  is  altogether  probable  that 
he  would  even  have  gone  out  of  his  way  to  seek 
the  means  of  self-destruction,  had  he  not  prudently 
reflected  that  the  estate  of  Herman  Vanderbocker, 
deceased,  was  not  yet  fully  administered,  nor  the 
leather  bags  emptied.  To  leave  this  treasure  va- 
cant, and  the  bake-shop  unoccupied,  would  have 
been  rashness.  But  he  felt  unhappy.  His  heart, 
which  had  been  as  light  as  a  hot  roll,  was  now  as 
heavy  as  dough ;  and  being  little  disposed  to  mingle 
in  company,  he  determined  to  mount  his  horse,  and 
take  a  short  ride.  How  far  he  went,  or  what  he 
thought  of,  I  am  unable  to  say,  as  I  dined  that  day 
with  Mrs.  Atherton,  and  spent  the  afternoon  in  as- 
sisting her  lovely  daughter  to  draw  patterns,  a  fact 
which  will  account  for  my  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  events  of  the  morning. 

It  was  nearly  night,  when  Johnny,  who  was  trot- 
ting briskly  homewards,  overtook  a  stranger  within 
a  mile  or  two  of  the  village.  He  was  a  tall,  slim 
man,  mounted  on  a  high,  strong,  bony  horse ;  but 
he  was  so  muffled  up,  from  top  to  toe,  that  our 
hero  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  old  or  young, 
gentle  or  simple.  His  hat  was  covered  with  an 
oil-cloth,  his  legs  were  enveloped  in  ample  wrap- 


THE  VILLAGE    MUSICIAN.  149 

pers  of  coarse  cloth,  he  was  booted  and  spurred, 
and  over  all  he  wore  one  of  those  uncouth  but 
comfortable  coats,  fabricated  out  of  a  green  Macki- 
naw blanket,  which  are  so  common  on  the  Missis- 
sippi. His  horse  was  covered  with  mud,  aud  evi- 
dently tired.  His  own  appearance  was  way-worn, 
and  weather-beaten.  He  seemed  to  have  travelled 
far,  and  faced  many  a  storm.  Before  him  were  a 
pair  of  large  holster  pistols  ;  behind  him,  a  roll  con- 
taining his  surtout  and  umbrella ;  and  across  the 
saddle,  a  pair  of  immense  saddle  bags,  fastened  with 
a  brass  padlock. 

Johnny,  who  had  all  the  fiddler's  wonted  love  of 
company,  and  was  particularly  averse  to  riding 
alone  in  the  dark,  trottted  up  along  side  of  the  stran- 
ger, and  accosted  him  with  a  cheerful  "  Good  eve- 
ning." 

The  traveller  nodded  stiffly,  without  deigning  to 
turn  his  head. 

Johnny  gazed  wistfully  at  the  jaded  rider,  the 
tired  nag,  the  Mackinaw  blanket,  the  leggins,  and 
other  fixens,  as  we  say  in  the  West,  and  wondered 
who  this  could  be,  that  was  so  strangely  accoutred, 
and  was  too  proud  to  return  a  civil  salutation.  De- 
termined to  satisfy  his  curiosity,  he  tried  to  com- 
mence a  conversation,  by  making  some  common- 
place remark  about  the  weather ;  but,  as  this  elicited 
no  other  reply  than  a  cold  monosyllable,  he  resolved 
to  make  a  bold  push,  and  come  to  the  point  at  once. 

"You  seem  to  be  travelling,  mister,"  said  he. 
13* 


150        .  THE    VILLAGE    MUSICIAN. 

"You  have  guessed  right,"  replied  the  traveller. 

"Have  you  travelled  far, if  it's  a  fair  question?" 

"  Tolerably." 

Now  this  reply  seemed  to  our  hero  most  perplex- 
ingly  inexplicit.  "  Tolerably"  might  comprise  ten 
miles,  or  twenty,  or  a  hundred,  but  it  could  not 
apply  to  a  long  journey.  He  took  another  look  at 
the  leggins,  the  pistols,  and  the  green  blanket  coat, 
and,  edging  up  to  the  stranger,  thought  he  would  try 
it  again. 

"  Well,  mister,"  said  he,  "  if  I  mought  make  so 
bold,  where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Just  back  here,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  From  Oneida  ?" 

"  No  ;  further  back." 

"FromCataraugus?" 

"  No  ;  further  back." 

Johnny  considered  a  moment — for  his  stock  of 
geographical  knowledge  was  but  slender — and  again 
pushed  his  enquiries. 

"  I  guess,  may  be,  you  came  all  the  way  from 
Buffalo?" 

"  No ;  further  back." 

Johnny  scratched  his  head,  in  some  amazement, 
and  edged  off  from  the  stranger,  as  if  fearful  he  had 
fallen  into  bad  company ;  but  his  curiosity  over- 
coming every  other  feeling,  he  continued ; — "  Why 
I  don't  know  as  any  body  lives  any  further  off  than 
that.  If  1  mought  make  so  free,  what's  back  of 
Buffalo?" 


THE   VILLAGE    MUSICIAN.  151 

"Ohio." 

"  O — o — h !  yes  !  sure  enough  !  So  you  live  in 
Ohio?" 

"No;  further  back." 

"  Well,  what's  back  of  that?" 

"  Indiana." 

"And  do  you  live  there?" 

"  No  ;  further  back." 

"  And  what's  back  of  that?" 

"Illinois." 

"  Oh  !  you  live  in  Illinois." 

"  No  1  don't." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"Further  back." 

"  I  guess  you  don't  live  at  all!"  exclaimed  Johnny 
trembling  all  over,  for  it  was  now  growing  dark, 
and  the  tall  stranger,  who  seemed  to  have  ridden  so 
hard  and  so  far,  appeared  to  deny  being  an  inhabit- 
ant of  this  world.  But  Johnny  thought  he  would 
try  another  question. 

"  Well,  mister,  if  it's  no  harm,  what's  back  of 
Illinois  ?" 

"  Missouri." 

"  Do  you  live  there  ?" 

«  Yes." 

Johnny  absolutely  started,  and  stood  up  in  his 
stirrups,  and  a  cold  chill  ran  over  him;  for  the 
conversation  was  brought  to  a  dead  stand  by  this 
reply,  with  a  shock  resembling  that  with  which  a 
steamboat,  under  rapid  way,  is  checked  by  a  snag. 


152  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

But  he  had  located  the  stranger  ;  and,  after  drawing 
a  long  breath,  he  exclaimed — 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  on't.  I  am  almost  out  of  breath 
in  finding  it  out.  I  don't  know  how  you  stood  it  to 
travel  so  far ;  it  must  be  a  long  way  off.  How  far 
is  it,  sir,  if  it's  a  fair  question?' 

"Something  over  a  thousand  miles.  And  now," 
said  the  stranger,  "  as  I  have  answered  all  your 
enquiries,  1  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  put  a  few 
questions  to  you." 

"O  certainly." 

"  Do  you  live  in  this  village  ?" 

"  Yes — 1  was  born  here." 

"  What's  your  b«siness  ?" 

"  I'm  a  gentleman." 

"  What  does  your  father  do  for  a  living  ?" 

"Nothing." 

"What is  he?" 

"  He  is  a  dead  man." 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Atherton  ?" 

"  Yes— do  you  ?" 

"  Is  her  daughter  married?" 

"  No,  indeed,  far  from  it." 

"Why  far  from  it?" 

"  She  refused  an  excellent  offer  this  morning." 

"  From  whom  ?" 

"  That's  a  secret." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  if  it  is  a  secret  ?" 

« 1  had  it  from  herself.     But  here  is  the  hotel,  I'll 
bid  you  a  good  evening." 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  153 

"  Stay.  Have  you  any  objection  to  carry  a  note 
to  Miss  Atherton  ?" 

"  I  can't  say  as  I  have." 

"Well,  then,  as  she  seems  to  have  made  you  her 
confidant,  1  will  entrust  you  with  one."  So  saying, 
he  stepped  into  the  tavern,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
returned  with  a  neat  billet,  which  he  put  into  the 
hands  of  Johnny,  requesting  him  to  be  particularly 
careful  to  deliver  it  to  Lucy  herself. 

Proud  of  an  office  which  would  introduce  him  into 
the  presence  of  her  who  had  occupied  so  large  a 
share  of  his  thoughts,  he  departed  with  alacrity,  but 
meeting  with  some  of  his  companions,  who  detained 
him,  sorely  against  his  will,  more  than  an  hour 
elapsed  before  he  reached  the  dwelling  of  Mrs. 
Atherton.  That  lady  and  her  fair  daughter  were 
seated,  ttte  d  t£te,  at  their  work-stand,  when  a  modest 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments the  crest  fallen  Johnny  Vanderbocker  stood 
before  them.  *  Bowing  reverently  to  both  ladies,  he 
advanced  in  silence,  and  laid  the  note  before  Lucy, 
who  at  first  took  it  up  with  hesitation,  supposing 
that  it  contained  an  effusion  of  the  bearer's  own 
hopeless  passion;  but  no  sooner  had  the  superscrip- 
tion caught  her  eye,  than  she  tore  it  open,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  He  is  come,  he  is  come  !  Mother,  mother ! 
he  is  come !" 

"  Who  is  come?"  enquired  Johnny,  whose  feelings 
were  too  much  excited  to  permit  him  to  remain 
silent.  But  Lucy's  head  had  fallen  upon  her 


154  THE  VILLAGE    MUSICIAN. 

mother's  shoulder,  and  the  tears  were  rolling  down 
her  cheeks,  while  the  good  lady's  eyes  were  also 
filled. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Johnny,  in  a  soothing  tone ; 
«•  don't  be  scared,  ladies.  If  he  does  carry  horse 
pistols,  he  is  not  a  going  to  do  as  he  pleases  in 
Herkimer.  Don't,  don't  cry,  Miss  Lucy — I'll  fight 
for  you  as  long  as  I  can  stand."  At  this  juncture, 
the  door  again  opened,  and  the  stranger  stood  before 
them.  The  blanket-coat  fell  from  his  shoulders, 
and  Lucy  Atherton  rushed  into  his  arms.  "  Dear 
Lucy!"  "  Dear  Charles!"  was  all  they  could  utter. 
Mrs.  Atherton  glided  out  of  the  room.  "  The  old 
lady  does  not  like  you  either,"  thought  Johnny ; 
"  she  served  me  just  so." 

"  Three  are  poor  company,"  continued  Johnny 
to  himself,  and  he  too  retired  ;  but  he  had  the  con- 
solation of  believing  that  he  had  found  a  complete 
solution  of  the  mystery  of  the  young  lady's  conduct 
in  the  morning.  "  She  would  neve*r,"  he  argued, 
"  have  refused  me,  and  three  hundred  dollars,  and 
the  bake-shop,  if  she  had  n't  been  engaged  already. 
She  was  sorry  about  it,  no  doubt,  though  she  did 
pretend  not  to  mind  it.  Dear  me,  what  a  pity  !  the 
poor  thing  laughed  so,  and  was  so  overjoyed  when 
I  went  there  a-courting  to-day,  and  now  this  great 
backwoodsman  has  come  from  nobody  knows  where, 
to  carry  her  off.  Well  she  knows  her  own  business 
best.  Three  hundred  dollars  won't  go  a  begging 
long  in  Herkimer.  So  good-bye  to  Lucy  Atherton," 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  155 

But  manfully  as  our  hero  strove  against  his  disap- 
pointment, it  preyed  upon  him,  and  for  two  days  he 
remained  in  his  own  house  quite  disconsolate,  moping 
about  like  a  hypochondriac,  and  poking  the  fire  with 
the  petulance  of  a  bachelor  who  is  past  hope,  or — 
past  forty.     At  the  end  of  that  time  he  received  an 
unexpected  visit  from  the  stranger.     Stripped  of  his 
blanket-coat   and  leggins,  and  disarmed   of  those 
ferocious  weapons  which  had   excited  our  hero's 
curiosity  so  strongly,  he   seemed  another   person. 
Although  somewhat  above  the  ordinary  stature,  his 
person  was  slender  and  genteel,  his  face,  which  was 
browned  by  exposure  to  the  weather,  was  remarka- 
bly handsome,  and  his  address  frank  and  easy.     His 
age  might  have  been  two  or  three  and  twenty,  but 
having  already  mixed  with  the  world,  and  felt  the 
touch  of  care,  he  had  the  manners  of  an  older  man. 
"  Mr.  .Vanderbocker,"  said  he,  "you  guided  me  into 
the  village  the  other  evening,  when  I  was  tired  and 
perhaps  less  sociable  than  I  ought  to  have  been,  and 
Ihave  called  to  thank  you  for  your  civility,  and  to 
request  the  pleasure  of  your  company  on  to-morrow 
evening  at  Mrs.  Atherton's."     Johnny  pleaded  his 
black  coat,  and  tried  to  beg  off;  for  he  had  heard  it 
whispered  that  Lucy  was  to  give  her  hand  to  the 
handsome  stranger,  and  felt  but  little  inclination  to 
be  present  at  the  wedding.     His  visiter,  however, 
pressed  him,  adding,  "  Miss  Atherton  esteems  you 
as  one  of  her  earliest  friends,  and  will  have  it  so." 
"  1  will  go  then,"  said  Johnny,  greatly  soothed  by 


156  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

this  compliment.  "  And  now,  Mr.  Wilkinson,"  for 
such  he  had  learned  was  the  stranger's  name,  "  will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  how  you  managed  to 
court  one  of  our  Herkimer  ladies,  without  ever  set- 
ting your  foot  in  the  village — our  belle,  too,  that  has 
had  so  many  good  offers  at  home  ?"  Mr.  Wilkinson 
smiled,  and  replied,-  "  Lucy  and  myself  met  at 
Schenectady,  where  we  were  both  going  to  school, 
and  were  well  enough  pleased  with  each  other  to 
agree  to  unite  our  destinies.  Her  father  was  but 
recently  deceased,  and  she  was  supposed  to  have 
inherited  a  fortune,  while  my  own  circumstances 
were  such  that  it  was  with  difficulty  I  completed 
my  education.  Mrs.  Atherton  might  possibly  have 
taken  these  things  into  consideration  ;  at  all  events, 
her  views  differed  from  ours,  and  she  no  sooner 
heard  of  our  attachment  than  she  took  Lucy  home, 
and,  rather  haughtily  as  I  thought,  forbade  my 
visiting  at  her  house.  Poor  Lucy !  her  fortune 
turned  out  to  be  illusory.  Her  father  had  died  a 
bankrupt,  and  left  his  family  so  destitute,  that  Mrs. 
Atherton  had  to  struggle  with  many  difficulties. 
Though  they  have  kept  up  a  genteel  appearance,  I 
fear  they  have  sometimes  wanted  even  the  necessa- 
ries of  life.  But  Lucy  lived  through  it  all  with  a 
gay  heart,  and  a  noble  spirit,  and  refused,  as  you 
remark,  many  a  good  offer.  As  for  me,  I  went  to 
the  West,  mortified  at  having  been  spurned  from 
the  door  of  a  proud  woman,  and  determined  to 
earn  that  wealth  and  distinction,  which  I  saw  could 


THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN.  157 

alone  procure  my  admittance  into  the  bosom  of 
Lucy's  family.  1  went,  friendless  and  pennyless, 
to  the  shores  of  the  Mississippi,  where  not  a  heart 
beat  responsive  to  my  own,  and  where  1  was  ex- 
posed to  many  hardships  and  dangers.  But  I  was 
so  eminently  successful  in  business,  that  I  am  al- 
ready independent,  and  able  to  claim  the  fulfilment 
of  her  promise.  There  is  no  objection  now  on  the 
part  of  either  mother  or  daughter,  and,  to-mor- 
row evening,  I  shall  become  the  happy  possessor  of 
Lucy's  hand." 

u  You  deserve  it,"  said  Johnny,  sobbing,  "in- 
deed you  do — for,  simple  as  1  seem,  and  simple  as 
I  be,  I  'm  not  the  lad  to  envy  a  true  lover  and  a 
generous-hearted  girl  their  happiness.  But  do  you 
intend  to  take  her  '  further  back  ?' "  added  he, 
pointing  significantly  to  the  West. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  home  now." 

"  Good  luck  to  you  both,  then.  I  will  certainly 
attend  the  wedding ;  and  if  father  had  been  dead  a 
little  longer,  I  would  play  for  you,  that  I  might  see 
Miss  Lucy  dance  for  the  last  time.  Yes,  it  would 
be  the  last  time.  Never  will  I  see  such  another 
figure  on  the  floor.  And  never  shall  any  other 
woman  dance  to  music  of  mine.  I  '11  hang  up  my 
fiddle.  There  will  be  nobody  in  the  village  fit  to 
play  for  when  she  is  gone.  I  have  played  my  last 
tune,  and  I  shall  now  do  as  my  father  did — bake 
bread,  and  lock  up  my  dollars  in  the  old  oak 
chest." 

14 


158  THE  VILLAGE  MUSICIAN. 

Johnny  kept  his  word.  Several  years  have 
passed,  and  he  may  now  be  seen  any  summer's 
day,  seated  at  the  door  of  his  cottage,  with  a  red 
night-cap  on  his  head,  and  a  short  black  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  chuckling  over  the  idea  that  he  has  more 
hard  dollars  under  lock  and  key  than  any  man  in 
the  village.  He  bakes  excellent  bread,  gives  good 
weight,  and  drinks  nothing  but  his  own  beer,  while 
the  sound  of  a  violin,  or  the  smile  of  a  woman, 
never  gladdens  his  roof,  and 

"  The  harp  that  once  in  Tara's  halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls, 
As  if  that  soul  were  fled." 


159 


FASHIONABLE   WATERING  PLACES. 


A  person  of  taste  may  spend  a  few  days  very 
pleasantly  at  a  genteel  Watering  Place.  The  con- 
tinual succession  of  new  faces,  the  interesting 
variety  of  character,  and  the  harmonious  intermix- 
ture of  grades  exhibited  here,  are  such,  that  the 
mind  of  desultory  man,  however  studious  of  change, 
cannot  fail  to  be  amused.  I  say  nothing  of  the 
beauties  of  the  landscape,  the  invigorating  breeze 
of  the  country,  or  the  medicinal  virtues  of  the 
mineral  fountain — because  the  last  may  be  imitated 
in  perfection  by  a  bungling  apothecary,  and  the 
others  are  easily  purchased  by  the  fatigue  of  a 
morning  ride  from  the  most  crowded  metropolis. 
Those  vulgar  enjoyments  which  are  within  the 
reach  of  the  whole  human  race,  are  very  properly 
disdained  by  persons  of  fashion.  Much  has  also 
been  said  of  the  keen  appetites  which  are  found  at 
these  healthful  places  of  resort.  Portly  gentlemen, 


160  WATERING    PLACES. 

and  pale-faced  ladies,  exult  equally  in  the  quantity 
offish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  which  the  talismanic  effects 
of  the  sea  breeze  or  the  chalybeate  draught  enable 
them  to  consume.  But  this  is  surely  false  taste. 
What  can  be  more  ungenteel  than  eating,  or  rather 
devouring,  flesh  and  vegetables  like  the  locusts  of 
Egypt,  or  the  lean  kine  of  Pharaoh  ?  Can  that  be 
styled  a  polite  employment  which  is  common  to 
the  philosopher  and  the  savage,  the  belle  and  the 
washerwoman  ?  Eating  is  certainly  a  vulgar  occu- 
pation— and  1  cannot  but  marvel  that  wits  and 
beauties — "the  curled  darlings  of  the  nation" — 
should  hie  to  Long  Branch  or  Ballston,  for  the 
purpose  of  gratifying  that  voracious  propensity 
which  gives  celebrity  to  the  boa  constrictor,  and 
the  man  who  swallows  tallow  candles  for  a  wager ! 
The  preacher  condemns  the  epicure  who  "  fares 
sumptuously  every  day ;"  and  the  physician  lives 
by  repairing  the  inroads  of  the  cook.  Besides,  we 
certainly  know,  that  the  literati  of  every  age  have 
deplored  the  appetite  for  food  as  the  most  imperti- 
nent and  vexatious  of  the  human  propensities. 
That  it  has  caused  many  an  honest  gentleman  to 
turn  author,  cannot  be  disputed ;  and  that  it  has 
peopled  Parnassus  with  gaunt  forms  and  hungry 
aspects,  is  equally  unquestionable.  Gentlemen, 
therefore,  who  write  for  bread,  should  not  go  to 
Watering  Places.  For  my  part,  I  have  always 
viewed  this  subject  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher, 
and  have  never  ceased  to  deplore  the  inflexibility 


WATERING    PLACES.  161 

of  that  ordinance  of  our  nature,  which  bestows  the 
best  appetites  upon  those  who  are  least  able  to 
supply  them.  Physicians  display  a  most  unfeeling 
apathy  to  the  sufferings  of  their  fellow  creatures, 
when  they  inconsiderately  administer  provocatives 
to  the  palate  of  every  one  who  fancies  himself  de- 
ficient in  voracity,  without  enquiring  into  the  ability 
of  the  patient  to  sustain  and  cherish  the  newly 
awakened  sense.  If  I  was  a  practitioner  of  the 
healing  art,  1  would  ask  my  patient  if  he  was  a  poet, 
and  if  he  answered  in  the  affirmative,  I  should  con- 
gratulate him  upon  the  delicacy  of  his  appetite,  and 
positively  forbid  the  "exhibition"  of  tonics.  I 
would  conscientiously  regulate  the  appetites  of 
those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  placed  under 
my  care,  by  the  dimensions  of  their  purses.  Thus 
my  patients  would  be  rated,  like  ships  of  war,  by 
their  weight  of  metal ;  he  who  could  compass  three 
full  meals  a-day,  with  a  lunch  at  noon  and  a  hot 
supper  at  midnight,  should  ruralise  at  Bedford  or 
Saratoga,  and  have  bark  and  wine  to  his  heart's 
content ;  a  less  plethoric  purse  should  be  placed  on 
allowance ;  and  where  the  income  was  in  a  low 
state  of  debility,  meagre  diet  and  nauseating  draughts 
should  be  prescribed.  But  as  it  seems  natural  that 
the  force  of  reason  should  forbid  men  from  pursuing 
that  which,  when  obtained,  would  be  burthensome, 
I  am  in  the  habit  of  believing  all  the  visiters  whom 
I  meet  at  Watering  Places  to  be  persons  of  fortune, 
who  purchase  pleasure  with  their  superfluous 
14* 


162  WATERING    PLACES. 

wealth,  or  seek  appetites  because  they  have  where- 
withal to  gratify  them. 

But  a  watering  place  has  other  uses  and  attrac- 
tions. Dashing  blades  may  lawfully  resort  thither 
to  sport  their  equipages,  and  beauties  to  display 
their  charms.  Southern  gentlemen  find  the  flavour 
of  a  mint  julep  greatly  enhanced  by  the  refreshing 
coolness  of  the  mountain  spring,  and  city  ladies 
bloom  like  wild  flowers  in  these  salubrious  retreats. 
Your  watering  place  is,  moreover,  a  notable  school 
for  good  manners ;  for,  as  the  parties  are  for  the 
most  part  strangers  to  each  other,  all  are  free  and 
equal ;  and  thence  results  that  absence  of  constraint 
and  ease  of  manner,  which  is  so  much  admired  in 
high  life.  There  is  no  herald's  office  kept  here. 
Here  is  no  balancing  of  straws,  and  weighing  of 
feathers — no  tossing  of  heads,  and  winking,  and 
whispering,  to  find  out  who  is  who.  One  gentleman 
may  wear  blue,  and  another  black,  but  "  a  man  's  a 
man  for  a'  that" — and  as  every  man  may  place  his 
own  name  on  the  books  with  whatever  title  or 
addition  he  pleases,  he  has  only  to  choose  his  own 
rank,  and  he  passes  current  accordingly.  "  Misery," 
it  is  said,  "  brings  us  into  strange  company" — so 
does  misery's  opposite,  pleasure.  Here  are  singular 
combinations,  not  to  be  explained  by  any  of  the 
established  rules  of  affinity,  attraction,  or  cohesion. 

To  the  lover  this  is  a  congenial  climate.  Is  it 
not  strange  that  a  sympathy  should  exist  between 
the  palate  and  the  heart  ?  Will  my  fair  and  gentle 


WATERING    PLACES.  163 

readers  believe  that  love  and  hunger — the  one  a 
gross  vulgar  appetite,  the  other  a  genteel,  delicate, 
sentimental  passion — may  be  awakened  and  invigo- 
rated by  the  same  stimulants  ?  It  is  even  so.  The 
air  of  the  country  is  alike  salubrious  to  a  feeble 
frame,  or  a  debilitated  attachment.  The  sight  of 
haystacks,  and  waving  corn,  and  flowery  meads, 
creates  a  sweet  delusion  around  the  intoxicated 
senses  of  the  lover,  and  peoples  the  fairy  scene  with 
nymphs  and  swains,  and  all  the  delightful  parapher- 
nalia of  pastoral  love.  Mineral  water  is  as  nutri- 
tious to  the  heart,  as  it  is  invigorating  to  the  body. 
Why  is  it  that  the  young  lady 

Whose  soul  blithe  Cupid  never  taught  to  stray 
Beyond  the  coxcombs  who  infest  Broadway, 

no  sooner  gets  to  Ballston,  than  her  ambition  soars 
to  nobler  objects ;  and  she,  who  a  few  days  before 
submitted  patiently  to  the  addresses  of  a  dandy, 
now  aims  at  the  subjugation  of  a  manly  heart  ?  No 
wizard  ever  invented  a  love-inspiring  potion  so 
potent  as  the  medicated  fountain ;  but  to  which  of 
the  elements  that  enter  into  the  composition  of  the 
chalybeate  draught  this  effect  is  to  be  attributed,  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  determine.  If  I  were  a  chemist,  I 
could  account  for  the  phenomenon,  because  a  che- 
mical genius  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  theory,  and 
dives  into  causes  with  an  expertness  which,  by  no 
means,  depends  upon  any  previous  or  present 
knowledge  of  the  subject.  He  who  deals  in  retorts 
can  solve  any  question — though  not  always  by  the 


164  WATERING  PLACES. 

retort  courteous.  I  once,  indeed,  attempted  to  phi- 
losophise upon  this  matter  myself,  and  achieved  a 
moral  analysis  after  the  manner  used  and  approved 
by  the  chemical  professors.  1  carefully  examined 
the  various  properties  of  a  celebrated  spring,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  arrived  at  a  conclusion  quite  as 
satisfactory  as  the  results  of  ordinary  experiments. 
"  Here  is  magnesia,"  said  I,  "  which  corrects  acidi- 
ty, and  which  by  a  sympathetic  influence  upon  the 
mind  converts  a  sour  old  maid  into  a  well  condi- 
tioned miss,  and  neutralising  the  acerbities  of  the 
bachelor's  temper,  leaves  his  mental  system  in  a 
healthful  state,  well  suited  to  the  reception  of  soft 
and  agreeable  impressions.  And  here  is  sulphur, 
which,  combined  with  'villanous  saltpetre,'  com- 
mits such  havoc  in  the  world  under  the  name  of 
gunpowder.  Can  ladies  who  imbibe  sulphur  water 
and  gunpowder  tea,  be  otherwise  than  inflam- 
mable ?  Is  it  any  wonder  that  maidens  who  take 
in  such  combustible  materials  should  '  go  off'  with 
any  spark  with  whom  she  comes  in  contact? 
Then  here  is  iron — mercy  preserve  the  dear  girls  ! 
what  a  collection  of  mortal  engines  !  what  fatal  im- 
plements of  destruction  are  here  assembled ! — an 
artillery  officer  would  be  quite  at  home  in  such  a 
magazine  of  ordnance  stores.  We  have  only  to 
convert  this  iron  into  steel — let  it  act  mechanically 
upon  the  flinty  heart  of  the  lady,  and  is  it  any  won- 
der that  Cupid  should  strike  fire,  or  Hymen  light  a 
match?"  Such  was  my  theory,  and  I  will  vouch 


WATERING  PLACES.  165 

it  to  be  as  correct  as  many  of  the  systems  in 
which  the  scientific  repose  implicit  faith.  If  it  has 
not  more  good  sense  than  the  theory  of  specific 
gravity,  1  will  forfeit  my  ears — provided  a  future 
generation  be  allowed  to  decide  the  question.  But 
whether  1  am  right  or  wrong,  i  shall  still  exclaim, 
"  if  mineral  water  be  the  food  of  love,  drink  on !" 
and  that  it  is,  will,  I  think,  be  satisfactorily  proved 
by  the  following  little  history.  I  have  suppressed 
the  real  names  of  the  parties,  but  the  facts  will  be 
instantly  recollected  by  those  of  my  readers,  who 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  celebrated 
spot  where  they  occurred. 

Miss  Simper  appeared  at  Saratoga  in  an  elegant 
suit  of  sable.  She  was  said  to  be  in  mourning  for 
her  father,  an  opulent  broker  in  Baltimore,  recent- 
ly deceased.  Grief  had  wasted  her  health,  and 
weeping  had  washed  away  her  roses,  and  she  was 
come  to  recover  her  appetite,  and  re-animate  her 
blushes.  Miss  Simper,  of  course,  was  an  heiress, 
and  attracted  great  attention.  The  gentlemen 
called  her  a  beauty,  ^id  talked  a  great  deal  of  her 
real  estate,  bank  stock,  and  securities.  Some  of 
the  ladies  thought  her  complexion  too  sallow, 
and  some  objected  to  the  style  of  her  dress.  Mrs. 
Highflyer  said  she  had  not  the  air  of  a  woman  of 
fashion,  while  Captain  Halliard  pronounced  her  a 
suspicious  sail,  and  declared  his  belief  that  she  was 
a  privateer  in  disguise.  The  fair  stranger,  how- 
ever, walked  daily  to  the  fountain,  modestly  cast 


166  WATERING  PLACES. 

down  her  eyes  when  gazed  at,  and  seemed  uncon- 
scious of  all  but  her  own  honours. 

About  this  time  Major  Fitzconnel  appeared  upon 
the  busy  scene.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome  man,  of 
easy  address,  and  polished  manners,  who  seemed 
to  regard  all  around  him  with  an  air  of  very  polite 
unconcern.  He  was  announced  as  an  officer  in  his 
Britannic  Majesty's  service,  and  brother  to  Earl 
Somebody  in  England.  It  was  reported  that  he 
had  large  landed  possessions  in  the  west.  He  did 
not  appear  to  seek  society,  but  was  too  well  bred 
to  repel  any  civilities  which  were  offered  to  him. 
The  gentlemen  were  well  pleased  with  his  good 
sense,  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  the  suavity 
of  his  manners;  but  as  he  seemed  to  avoid  the 
ladies,  they  had  little  opportunity  of  estimating  his 
qualities. 

Major  Fitzconnel  and  Miss  Simper  met  by  acci- 
dent at  the  fountain.  The  officer,  who  had  just 
filled  his  glass  at  her  approach,  presented  it  to  the 
lady,  who,  in  sipping  the  transparent  element, 
dropped  her  handkerchief.  *The  gentleman  very 
gallantly  picked  up  the  cambric,  and  restored  it  to 
the  fair  hand  of  its  owner — but  the  blushing  dam- 
sel, abashed  by  the  easy  attentions  of  an  elegant 
stranger,  in  her  confusion  lost  her  reticule,  which 
the  soldier  gracefully  replaced  upon  her  wrist,  with 
a  most  respectful  bow.  A  curtesy  on  the  one  side, 
and  another  bow  on  the  other,  terminated  the  civi- 
lities of  this  meeting.  The  gentleman  pursued  his 


WATERING  PLACES.  167 

walk,  and  the  lady  returned  to  her  chamber. 
That  Miss  Simper  felt  duly  sensible  of  the  honour 
of  having  elicited  three  graceful  congees  from  the 
brother  of  an  English  earl,  cannot  be  doubted ;  nor 
can  we  suppose,  without  injustice  to  that  gentle- 
man's taste,  that  he  saw  with  indifference  the 
mantling  blushes  which  those  attentions  had  drawn 
forth ;  certain  it  is,  however,  that  as  they  separated 
in  opposite  directions,  neither  of  them  was  seen  to 
cast  "  one  longing  lingering  look  behind."  As  I 
had  not  the  privilege  of  intruding  into  either  of 
their  chambers,  I  cannot  say  what  fairy  forms 
might  have  flitted  around  the-  magic  pillow, 
nor  whether  the  fair  one  dreamed  of  coronets, 
coats  of  arms,  kettle  drums,  and  epaulets. 
In  short,  I  am  not  able  to  inform  the  inquisitive 
reader,  whether  the  parties  thought  of  each  other 
at  all;  but  from  the  extreme  difficulty  of  again 
bringing  two  such  diffident  persons  in  contact,  1  am 
inclined  to  think  the  adventure  would  have  ended 
here,  had  not  "  chance,  which  oft  decides  the  fates 
of  mighty  monarchs,"  decided  theirs. 

Miss  Simper's  health  required  her  attendance  at 
the  fountain  on  the  following  morning  at  an  unu- 
sually early  hour ;  and  the  major,  while  others  were 
snoring,  had  sallied  forth  to  enjoy  the  invigorating 
freshness  of  the  early  breeze.  They  met  again  by 
accident  at  the  propitious  well ;  and  as  the  attend- 
ant, who  is  usually  posted  there  to  fill  the  glasses  of 
the  invalids,  had  not  yet  taken  his  station,  the 


168  WATERING  PLACES. 

major  had  not  only  the  happiness  of  performing 
that  office,  but  of  replenishing  the  exhausted  vessel, 
until  the  lady  had  quaffed  the  full  measure  pre- 
scribed by  the  medical  dictator  of  this  little  com- 
munity, i  am  not  able  to  say  how  often  they 
pledged  each  other  in  the  salubrious  beverage ;  but 
when  the  reader  is  informed  that  the  quantum  pre- 
scribed to  a  delicate  female  varies  from  four  to 
eight  glasses,  according  to  the  nature  of  her  com- 
plaint, and  that  a  lady  cannot  decorously  sip  more 
than  one  mouthful  without  drawing  breath,  it  will 
be  seen  that  ample  time  was  afforded  on  this  occa- 
sion for  a  tete-a-tete.  The  ice  being  thus  broken, 
and  the  water  duly  quaffed,  the  gentleman  pro- 
posed a  promenade,  to  which  the  lady  after  some 
little  hesitation  acceded ;  and  when  the  great  bell 
summoned  them  to  breakfast,  they  repaired  to  the 
table  with  excellent  appetites,  and  cheeks  glowing 
with  healthful  hues,  produced  by  the  exercise  of 
the  morning. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  lady  issued  forth  from  her 
chamber,  adorned  with  new  charms,  by  the  recent 
labours  of  the  toilet,  and  strolling  pensively,  book 
in  hand,  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  great  piazza, 
commenced  her  studies.  It  happened,  at  the  same 
moment,  that  the  major,  fresh  from  his  valet's 
hands,  hied  himself  to  the  same  cool  retreat,  to 
breathe  forth  the  melancholy  musings  of  his  soul, 
upon  his  flute.  Seeing  the  lady,  he  hesitated,  beg- 
ged  pardon  for  his  intrusion,  and  was  about  to 


WATERING  PLACES.  169 

retire- — but  the  lady  assured  him  it  was  "  no  intru- 
sion at  all,"  and  laid  aside  her  book.  The  gentle* 
man  was  soon  seated  beside  her.  He  begged  to 
know  the  subject  of  her  researches,  and  was  de- 
lighted with  the  taste  displayed  in  the  choice  of  her 
author ;  she  earnestly  solicited  a  display  of  his  mu- 
sical talents,  and  was  enraptured  with  every  note ; 
— and  when  the  same  impertinent  bell  which  had 
curtailed  their  morning  walk,  again  sounded  in 
their  ears,  they  were  surprised  to  find  how  swiftly 
time  had  flown,  and  chagrined  that  the  common- 
place operation  of  eating  was  so  often  allowed  to 
interrupt  the  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul. 

At  four  o'clock  the  military  stranger  handed 
Miss  Simper  into  an  elegant  gig,  and  drove  to  the 
neighbouring  village  ; — where  rumour  soon  pro- 
claimed that  this  interesting  pair  were  united  in 
the  holy  bands  of  matrimony.  For  once  the  many 
tongues  of  fame  spoke  truly — and  when  the  happy- 
major  returned  with  his  blushing  bride,  all  could 
see  that  the  embarrassment  of  the  lover  was  ex- 
changed for  the  triumphant  smile  of  the  delighted 
bridegroom.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that 
such  was  the  salutary  effect  of  this  pleasing  event, 
that  the  "  young  couple"  found  themselves  restored 
instantaneously  to  perfect  health;  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  they  bade  adieu  to  Saratoga 
springs, 

"This  is  a  very  ungenteel  affair!"  said  Mrs. 
Highflyer.  "  1  never  heard  the  beat  of  it  in  my 
15 


170  WATERING  PLACES. 

born  days  !"  said  a  fat  shopkeeper's  lady.  "  How 
funny!"  cried  one  young  lady.  "  How  shocking  !" 
exclaimed  another.  "  Egad,  that  's  a  keen  smart 
girl !"  said  one  gentleman.  "  She  's  a  tickler,  I 
warrant  her !"  said  a  second.  "  She  's  a  pirate, 
by  thunder !"  roared  Captain  Halliard. 

In  the  mean  while,  the  new-married  pair  were 
pursuing  their  journey  by  easy  stages  towards  the 
city  of  New  York.  We  all  know  "  how  the  blest 
charms  of  nature  improve,  when  we  see  them  re- 
flected," and  so  on  ;  and  we  can  readily  imagine 
"how  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  past  by"  on  this 
occasion.  Uninterrupted  by  ceremonious  visits, 
unrestrained  by  the  presence  of  third  parties,  sur- 
rounded by  all  the  blandishments  which  give  en- 
chantment to  the  rural  scene,  it  is  riot  surprising 
that  our  lovers  should  often  digress  from  the 
beaten  road,  and  as  often  linger  at  a  romantic  spot, 
or  a  secluded  cottage. 

Several  days  had  now  elapsed,  and  neither  party 
had  made  any  disclosure  to  the  other  upon  the  im- 
portant subject  of  finance.  As  they  were  drawing 
near  the  end  of  their  journey,  the  major  thought  it 
advisable  to  broach  this  delicate  matter  to  his 
bride.  It  was  upon  a  fine  summer  evening,  as  they 
sat  by  a  window,  at  an  inn,  enjoying  the  beauties 
of  an  extensive  landscape,  that  this  memorable 
conversation  occurred.  They  had  been  amusing 
themselves  with  that  kind  of  small  talk  which  new 
married  folks  find  so  vastly  pleasant :  as  how  much 


WATERING   PLACES.  171 

they  love  one  another,  and  how  happy  they  intend 
to  be,  and  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  for  two  fond 
hearts  to  be  dissolved  and  melted  down  into  one, 
&c.  Many  examples  of  love  and  murder  were  re- 
lated— the  lady  told  of  several  distressed  swains 
who  had  incontinently  hanged  themselves  for  their 
mistresses,  and  the  gentleman  as  often  asseverated 
that  not  one  of  those  martyred  lovers  adored  the 
object  of  his  passion  with  half  the  fervour  which 
he  felt  for  his  own,  dear,  sweet,  darling,  precious 
little  Anne!  At  last,  throwing  his  arm  over  his 
wife's  chair,  he  said  carelessly, 

"  Who  has  the  management  of  your  property, 
my  dear?" 

"  You  have,  my  darling,"  replied  she. 

"  1  shall  have,  when  1  get  it,"  said  the  husband 
— u  I  meant  to  enquire,  in  whose  possession  it  was 
at  present  ?" 

"  It  is  all  in  your  own  possession,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Do  not  trifle  with  me,"  said  the  gentleman, 
patting;  her  cheek — "you  have  made  me  the  happy 
master  of  your  person,  and  it  is  time  to  give  me 
the  disposal  of  your  fortune." 

"  My  face  is  my  fortune,  kind  sir,"  said  she,  lay- 
ing her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  To  be  plain  with  you,  madam,"  said  the  im- 
passioned bridegroom — "  I  have  need  of  money 
immediately — the  hired  gig  in  which  we  came  to 
this  place  has  been  returned,  and  I  have  not  the 
means  to  procure  another  conveyance." 


172  WATERING  PLACES. 

"  To  be  equally  candid  with  you,  sir,"  replied 
the  happy  bride,  "  1  have  nothing  in  the  world  but 
what  you  see." 

"  Have  you  no  real  estate  ?"  said  the  majorT 
starting  on  his  feet. 

"  Not  an  acre." 

" No  bank  stock?" 

"  None." 

"No  securities, — no  jewels, — no  money?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Are  you  not  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  a  rich 
broker?" 

"  Not  I,  indeed." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  then?" 

"  I  am  your  wife,  sir,  and  the  daughter  of  a  very 
honest  blacksmith." 

"  Bless  me  !"  exclaimed  the  major,  starting  back 
with  astonishment — then  covering  his  face  with 
both  his  hands,  he  remained  for  a  moment,  absorb- 
ed in  thought.  Resuming  his  serenity,  he  said,  in 
a  sneering  tone,  "  I  congratulate  you,  madam,  on 
being  the  wife  of  a  beggar  like  yourself.  I  am  a 
ruined  man,  and  know  not  whence  to  supply  my 
immediate  wants." 

"  Can  you  not  draw  upon  the  earl,  your  bro- 
ther ?"  said  the  lady. 

"  I  have  not  the  honour  of  being  allied  to  the 
nobility." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  have  recourse  to  the  paymas- 
ter of  your  regiment?" 


WATERING  PLACES.  173 

"  1  do  not  happen  to  belong  to  any  regiment." 

"  And  have  you  no  lands  in  Arkansas  ?" 

"  Not  an  acre." 

"  Pray,  then,  sir,  may  I  take  the  liberty  of  asking 
who  you  are  ?" 

"  I  am  your  husband,  madam,  at  your  service, 
and  only  son  to  a  famous  gambler,  who  left  me 
heir  to  his  principles  and  profession. 

"  My  father  gave  me  a  good  education,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  So  did  mine,"  said  the  gentleman — "  but  it  has 
not  prevented  me  from  trumping  the  wrong  trick 
this  time." 

So  saying,  Major  Fitzconnell  bounced  out  of  the 
chamber,  hastened  to  the  bar,  and  called  the  land- 
lord. His  interesting  bride  followed  on  tiptoe,  and 
listened  unobserved.  The  major  enquired  "  at 
what  hour  the  mail  stage  would  pass  for  New 
York."  "  About  midnight,"  was  the  reply.  "  Please 
to  secure  me  a  seat,"  said  the  major,  "and  let  me 
be  waked  at  the  proper  hour."  "  Only  one 
seat  ?"  enquired  the  host.  "  One  seat  only  !"  was 
the  reply.  The  landlord  remarked  that  it  was 
customary  for  gentlemen  who  set  off  in  the  night  to 
pay  their  fare  in  advance,  upon  which  the  major 
paid  for  the  seat. 

The  major   and   his   bride   retired  to   separate 

chambers ;  the  former  was  soon  locked  in  the  arms 

of  sleep,  but  the  latter  repelled  the  drowsy  god 

from  her  eye-lids.     When  she  heard  the  stage  drive 

15* 


174  WATERING  PLACES. 

up  to  the  door  of  the  inn,  she  hastily  rose,  and  hav- 
ing previously  made  up  her  bundle,  without  which 
a  lady  never  steals  a  march,  hastened  down  stairs. 
Upon  the  way  she  met  the  landlord,  who  enquired 
if  her  husband  was  awake. 

"  He  is  not,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  need  not  be 
disturbed." 

"  The  seat  was  taken  for  you,  then,"  enquired 
the  innkeeper. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Oh,  very  well — we  '11  not  disturb  the  gentle- 
man— the  stage  is  ready,  madam, — -jump  in."  Mrs. 
Fitzconnell  jumped  in  accordingly,  and  was  soon 
on  her  way  to  New  York,  leaving  the  gallant  and 
ingenious  major  to  provide  another  conveyance, 
and  a  new  wife,  at  his  leisure. 


THE  USEFUL 


Jemmy  Gossamer  was  the  only  son  of  a  reputable 
tradesman,  who  grew  rich  by  his  skill  and  industry 
in  his  business,  and  who  might,  with  propriety,  be 
said  to  have  been  a  man  of  most  excellent  habits,  for 
he  was  an  eminent  tailor.  Perhaps  I  should  have 
said  a  men's  mercer,  for  it  is  a  curious  trait  of  human 
nature,  that  even  those  who  are  not  too  proud  to 
labour,  are  often  too  vain  to  be  called  by  their  right 
names.  In  our  republican  country,  and  in  an  age 
when  the  operative  classes  are  really  achieving  the 
proudest  triumphs  which  adorn  the  page  of  history, 
it  is  singular  to  see  the  ambitious  artifices,  by  which 
common  occupations  are  attempted  to  be  concealed 
under  dignified  names.  Formerly,  a  shoemaker 
was  content  to  be  called  cobbler,  but  now  he  is 
elevated  into  a  cordwainer ;  a  tinker  is  a  tin-plate 
worker ;  and  one  half  the  blacksmiths  in  the  country 


176  THE  USEFUL  MAN. 

have  the  title  of  engineer.  So  let  it  be  :  a  name 
costs  nothing,  and  does  nobody  any  harm.  But  old 
Gossamer  was  one  of  those  who  cared  very  little 
what  people  called  him,  provided  they  called  often, 
and  were  punctual  in  the  payment  of  their  bills. 
He  sat  on  his  shop-board  from  morning  till  night, 
and  worked  like  a  man — or,  more  properly  speak- 
ing, like  the  ninth  part  of  a  man, — from  the  expira- 
tion of  his  apprenticeship,  to  the  age  of  sixty-five. 
He  grew  rich  apace  ;  and  with  wealth  came  a  train 
of  honours.  He  was  made  a  bank  director,  a 
member  of  the  city  councils,  and  president  of  a  fire 
company  ;  but  so  far  from  being  seduced  by  these 
distinguished  marks  of  public  favour,  he  continued 
to  flourish  his  scissors  to  the  last,  with  unwearied 
assiduity,  and  with  a  humility  which  the  brightest 
smiles  of  fortune  never  for  a  moment  subdued.  He 
seemed  to  have  taken  the  measure  of  his  own  mind, 
and  to  have  cut  his  coat  according  to  his  cloth. 

It  is  a  curious  law  of  nature,  or  of  society,  that  a 
father  who  reaps  an  abundant  harvest  of  this  world's 
prosperity,  by  means  of  his  own  honest  exertions, 
is  most  usually  very  careful  to  prevent  his  son  from 
following  his  example.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  see 
men  spending  long  lives  of  usefulness  and  virtue, 
to  no  other  end  than  that  of  rearing  their  offspring 
in  the  opposite  vices.  In  the  management  of  his 
business,  Mr.  Gossamer  never  showed  any  want  of 
prudence  or  judgment ;  but  was  always  as  sharp  as 
a  needle.  The  training  of  his  son  was  another 


THE  USEFUL  MAN.  177 

affair.  He  could  never  bring  himself  to  the  belief, 
that  his  hopeful  heir  was  cut  out  for  a  tailor ;  and  as 
the  youth  showed  no  genius  for  any  other  calling,  he 
wisely  determined  to  breed  him  up  a  gentleman. 
There  is  no  character  more  eagerly  coveted  in  our 
simple  republican  land,  than  that  of  a  gentleman. 
An  honest  farmer,  or  a  mechanic,  will  work  harder 
than  a  slave  all  his  life,  and  deny  himself  a  thousand 
enjoyments,  in  order  to  have  the  gratification  of 
seeing  his  only  son  a  gentleman.  And  what  is  a 
gentleman  ?  In  this  country,  if  he  is  not  less,  he  is 
certainly  not  more,  than  another.  Gentility  does 
not  endow  any  man  with  a  new  faculty,  or  an 
exclusive  privilege.  A  gentleman  has  all  the  wants, 
frailties,  appetites,  vices,  and  passions  of  other  men, 
suffers  under  the  same  diseases,  endures  the  same 
misfortunes,  and  dies  the  same  death.  He  has  but 
one  life,  but  one  vote,  and  cannot  lawfully  have  but 
one  wife.  He  must  eat  and  sleep,  wear  clothes,  cut 
off  his  beard,  and  take  physic,  as  well  as  a  clod-hop- 
per. In  other  countries  a  gentleman  is  supposed  to 
inherit,  and  transmit,  a  purer  blood  than  that  which 
flows  in  the  veins  of  his  fellow  creatures ;  and  he 
enjoys  some  privileges  which  amount  to  substantial 
advantages.  But,  alas !  where  is  the  man  in  our 
land — yea,  even  the  proudest  and  most  aristocratic, 
who  can  look  back  upon  his  ancestry,  without  stum- 
bling upon  a  dingy  blacksmith,  a  tricky  pedlar, 
or  a  foetid  apothecary  ;  or  can  look  forward  to  the 
career  of  his  offspring,  without,  in  his  brightest 


178 


THE  USEFUL  MAN, 


dreams,  being  forced  to  see  some  of  them  humbled 
to  the  most  plebeian  occupations  ?  To  be  a  gentle- 
man, then,  in  the  sense  that  we  now  use  the  word, 
amounts  to  nothing  more  than  to  be  idle,  and  the 
title  is  a  convenient  one,  to  distinguish  those  who 
have  no  occupation,  from  the  useful  classes  of  soci- 
ety. It  was  so  that  Mr.  .Gossamer  understood  it. 
Having  laboured  hard  all  his  life,  he  imagined  that 
it  would  be  a  great  privilege  to  live  without  work  ; 
and  as  his  son  would  have  an  ample  fortune,  he 
determined  that  he  should  spend  it  as  he  pleased. 

Jemmy  was  accordingly  the  best  dressed  youth 
in  the  town.  He  soon  became  a  leader  of  the  fash- 
ions ;  for  whenever  the  old  gentleman  wished  to 
introduce  a  coat  of  a  new  cut,  or  to  astonish  the 
sober  natives  with  a  flashy  vest,  he  displayed  the 
first  pattern  upon  the  neatly  turned  person  of  his 
favourite  son,  who  was  thus  made  to  answer  the 
purpose  of  a  walking  advertisement.  By  this  saga- 
cious process,  two  birds  were  killed  with  one  stone; 
the  skill  of  the  father  was  made  manifest  to  the 
public,  while  the  son  became  the  envy  of  all  his 
companions. 

Mr.  Gossamer  was  not  unmindful  of  the  advanta- 
ges of  education,  and  was  determined  to  procure 
for  the  hopeful  youth  who  was  to  inherit  his  fortune, 
ail  the  learning  that  money  could  buy.  But  that 
sprightly  young  gentleman  soon  discovered  that 
schools  and  colleges  were  no  places  for  him.  Among 
modern  innovations,  that  of  writing  the  word  "use- 


THE  USEFUL  MAN.  179 

fulness"  over  all  the  doors  of  science  and  literature, 
is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous.  Our  hero  soon 
discovered  that  learning  was  not  considered  as  a 
polite  accomplishment,  but  as  an  acquisition  which 
was  to  qualify  a  man  for  the  business  of  life.  He  was 
continually  reminded  of  the  practical  value  of 
different  branches  of  knowledge,  and  of  their  con- 
nection with  the  occupations  of  men.  The  truth 
of  course  flashed  upon  his  mind,  with  all  the  force 
of  a  syllogism — or,  as  his  worthy  progenitor  would 
have  expressed  it,  it  was  just  as  plain  as  the  button 
on  a  man's  coat — that  learning  was  not  necessary 
for  a  gentleman.  The  words  "  practical,"  "  busi- 
ness," "  usefulness,"  and  the  like,  were  associated 
in  his  mind  with  yard-sticks,  paper  measures,  lumps 
of  wax,  dirty  fingers,  and  other  concomitants  of  the 
shop  ;  and  as  he  had  wisely  kept  aloof  from  the 
latter,  he  was  not  aware  of  having  any  interest  in 
the  former.  It  followed  that  useful  knowledge 
would  be  superfluous  to  him,  who  was  not  intended 
for  an  useful  man,  but  a  gentleman.  The  schools 
xvere  abandoned,  or  only  attended  occasionally  as 
a  matter  of  form  ;  his  chief  occupations  were  dress- 
ing, lounging  in  Chesnut  street,  playing  billiards, 
and  going  to  the  theatre ;  and  his  studies  were  con- 
tined  to  newspapers,  play-bills,  Byron's  poems,  and 
Miss  Fanny  Wright's  philosophy.  Thus  he  grew 
in  years  and  in  gentility,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
one,  was  thoroughly  convinced  that  the  highest  dig- 
nity of  man  consisted  in  being  fashionably  clad,  and 


180  THE  USEFUL  MAN. 

the  highest  enjoyment  of  life  in  spending  money. 
About  this  time,  the  elder  Mr.  Gossamer,  having 
snapped  the  thread  of  life,  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers,  leaving  his  remnants  to  our  hero. 

The  propitious  hour  was  now  arrived,  when  our 
hero  was  to  reap  the  harvest  he  had  so  long  antici- 
pated, and  for  which  his  father  had  toiled  through 
half  a  century.  He  was  now  lord  of  himself,  and 
master  of  an  ample  fortune,  and  he  expected  forth- 
with to  take  his  station  among  the  A 's  and  the 

B s,  and  the  C s  who  were  considered  as 

tip-top  people.     But  the  A s,  the  B s,  and 

the  C — —s  had  never  heard  of  him, and  to  Jemmy's 
perfect  astonishment,  his  father's  death  neither 
increased  his  dignity,  nor  enlarged  the  circle  of  his 
acquaintance.  He  tried  to  force  his  way  into  that 
society  in  which  he  longed  to  move,  but  was 
repulsed  with  the  gentle  hint,  that  he  was  not  consi- 
ered  as  a  gentleman  !  Highly  indignant  at  what  he 
considered  an  unmerited  aspersion  upon  his  birth 
and  breeding,  he  resolved  upon  the  usual  expedient 
in  such  cases — that  of  purchasing,  by  dint  of  wealth, 
admission  into  those  circles  from  which  he  was 
excluded  by  his  manners  and  education.  He  deter- 
mined to  marry,  and  set  up  a  fine  establishment. 
But,  alas !  what  varied  disappointments  lie  in  wait 
for  the  aspirants  after  worldly  honours  !  One  lady 
refused  him  because  he  was  a  fop,  another  because 
he  was  illiterate  and  vulgar,  a  third  sneeringly 
offered  him  the  ninth  part  of  her  heart,  and  all 


THE  USEFUL  MAN*  181 

agreed  that  he  was  not  a  gentleman.  "  Not  a  gen- 
tleman !"  exclaimed  Jemmy,  "  that's  a  good  one  ! 
I  wonder  whaH  am,  if  I'm  not  a  gentleman  ?  I'm 
not  a  practical  man,  nor  a  mechanic,  nor  an  opera- 
tive, nor  one  of  those  useful  men  that  they  make 
such  a  fuss  about.  I  am  not  a  philosopher,  nor  a 
scholar;  no,  nor  a  doctor,  nor  a  lawyer — of  course, 
I  must  be  a  gentleman.  I  have  plenty  of  money, 
and  nothing  to  do ;  and  I  take  it  I  dress  as  well  as 
any  body.  I  must  be  something,  and  I  dont  know 
what  I  can  be,  unless  I  am  a  gentleman !"  He 
applied  to  a  friend  for  advice  as  to  the  best  method 
of  asserting  his  gentility. 

"  Write  a  book,"  said  his  friend,  "  authorship  has 
got  to  be  a  very  genteel  calling." 

"  1  can't  go  that — my  genius  doesn't  lie  that  way." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  that  is  all  a  mistake  ;  it  requires 
no  genius  to  make  a  book,  as  books  are  now  made. 
It  only  requires  industry,  a  steady  hand,  and  a  sharp 
pair  of  scissors." 

"That  may  be  very  true,"  replied  our  hero, 
"  but  industry  is  not  a  gentlemanly  virtue  ;  and  as 
for  a  pair  of  scissors,  I  am  surprised  that  you  would 
mention  so  vulgar  an  instrument ;  I  abominate  the 
very  name." 

"Oh  !  I  beg  pardon  ;  well,  there  is  another  plan  ; 
suppose  you  fight  a  duel." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  my  dear  fellow.  I  have  not 
nerves  for  that.  Besides,  I  might  be  killed,  and 
16 


182  THE  USEFUL  MAN. 

then  I   should  not  be  a  gentleman,  but  only  an 
1  unhandsome  corpse.'  No,  1  can't  go  that." 

"  You  must  travel,  then." 

"  Travel !  eh  !  where  ?" 

"  Any  where  you  please ;  to  the  West,  for  in- 
stance." 

"West;  what,  out  Chesnut  street?  over  Schuyl- 
kill  ?" 

"  Aye,  over  Schuylkill  and  Susquehanna,  over  the 
Ohio  and  Mississippi." 

"  Well,  1  like  that !  agreed  !  will  you  go  ?  Come, 
let's  be  off ;  I  want  to  be  back  by  Monday,  to  Coop- 
er's benefit." 

His  friend  walked  off,  laughing  ;  but  our  hero 
was  not  to  be  balked  in  his  newly  awakened  ambi- 
tion, and  having  made  up  his  mind  to  travel  West, 
and  learnt  that  he  could  not  possibly  "  be  back  by 
Monday,"  he  very  considerately  determined  to 
wait  until  after  that  day.  Having  made  all  the  ne- 
cessary enquiries  and  preparations,  he  resolutely 
took  his  seat  in  the  stage,  and  commenced  his 
journey. 

Had  it  been  a  dozen  years  ago,  he  would  have 
found  few  turnpikes,  and  those  wretchedly  bad  ;  for 
nobody  had  yet  found  out  that  it  was  unlawful  to 
make  them.  Every  rock  in  the  Alleghany  ridge 
might  have  been  broken  to  atoms,  and  every  pro 
minent  feature  in  the  face  of  the  country  amputated, 
without  the  slightest  injury  to  the  Constitution. 
Indeed,  most  people  would  have  thought  it  a  whole- 


THE  USEFUL  MAN.  183 

some  operation.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  roads  were 
not  made,  nor,  until  very  recently,  did  any  body 
seem  to  care  about  them.  The  politicians,  after 
all,  are  the  men  to  do  business  ;^they  are  the  "  great 
magicians"  who  set  every  thing  going.  No  sooner 
did  they  take  the  matter  up,  than  not  only  all  the 
land,  and  the  rivers,  but  even  public  sentiment, 
began  to  be  McAdamised ;  and  while  one  side 
denounced  turnpikes  as  the  roads  to  national  ruin, 
and  another  extolled  the  making  of  them  as  the 
greatest  of  virtues,  the  people  proceeded  vehemently 
to  that  proof  of  the  pudding,  which  the  good  old 
maxim  pronounces  the  best.  Notwithstanding  all 
this,  our  hero  soon  discovered,  that,  even  in  these 
days  of  improvement,  a  journey  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  western  country,  is  an  adventure  of  no  small 
magnitude.  As  there  is  ever  something  in  the  way, 
to  retard  our  most  innocent  undertakings,  so  here 
are  piles  of  hideous  mountains,  heaped  up  one  upon 
another,  until  the  highest  not  only  intercepts  the 
poor  earthly  traveller,  but  forces  even  the  clouds, 
as  they  roll  through  the  air,  to  turn  aside,  or  to 
crawl  heavily  up  the  mountain  to  its  summit.  There 
is  something  sublime,  and  even  consoling,  in  this 
idea ;  and  as  the  traveller  winds  his  toilsome  way 
up  the  mountain  path,  it  is  quite  comfortable  to 
reflect  that  thunder-gusts,  as  well  as  stage-coaches, 
must  submit  to  be  impeded  by  these  tremendous 
barriers.  As  for  Jemmy  Gossamer,  he  thought 
nothing  about  it,  but  drew  his  travelling  cap  over 


184  THE  USEFUL  MAN. 

his  eyes,  and  slept  the  more  soundly  as  the  carriage 
proceeded  with  less  rapidity.  One  fact,  however, 
in  natural  philosophy,  he  learned  among  the  cliffs 
of  the  Alleghany  ridge,  as  it  was  too  obvious  to 
escape  even  the  notice  of  a  gentleman,  namely, 
that  the  world  is  not  round  like  an  apple,  as  he  had 
been  taught  to  believe,  but  as  angular  as  a  brickbat. 

From  Pittsburgh  our  traveller  proceeded  very 
comfortably,  in  a  fine  steamboat,  to  St.  Louis, 
meeting  with  no  adventures  worthy  of  particular 
notice.  He  had  previously  sent  to  this  place,  by 
way  of  New  Orleans,  a  very  elegant  dearborn  car- 
riage, which  he  properly  imagined  would  carry  his 
trunks,  wardrobe,  &c.  and  enable  him  at  all  times 
to  appear  like  a  gentleman.  To  this  he  now  pre- 
fixed a  fine  horse,  by  means  of  a  dashing  set  of  pla- 
ted harness,  and  thus  equipped,  he  set  forth  one  fine 
summer  morning  upon  his  travels  in  Illinois.  He 
preferred  this  State,  because  he  was  told  that  the 
prairies  were  level,  and  destitute  of  trees.  "  I  like 
that,"  said  he — u  bad  things,  these  trees — don't  have 
them  in  Chesnut  street-— city  council  had  them  all 
cut  down  on  account  of  the  catterpillars— -wonder 
congress  don't  have  the  whole  concern  extermina- 
ted." 

Our  traveller  was  now  driving  over  beautiful 
plains,  in  a  thinly  settled  country,  where  his  fine 
dearborn  and  dandy  coat  begat  no  small  degree  of 
wonderment  among  the  natives.  To  the  latter  he 
had  resolved  to  be  very  civil  and  condescending, 


THE  USEFUL  MAN.  185 

because  he  had  heard  that  General  Jackson,  Mr. 
Clay,  and  other  great  men,  were  remarkable  for 
their  affable  courtesy  to  the  common  people.  As 
he  rode  leisurely  along,  he  met  a  countryman,  with 
a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  who  hailed  him  with, "  How 
are  you,  stranger  ?"  at  the  same  time  stopping  short, 
as  if  to  invite  a  tete-a-tete. 

"  1  hope  T  see  you  well,  sir,"  returned  Jemmy, 
reining  up  his  horse,  smiling  his  prettiest  smile,  and 
bowing  his  best  bow. 

"  Travelling,  stranger  ?"  was  the  next  question. 

"  Yes,  sir,  rusticating  a  little,  as  you  may  per- 
ceive." 

"  Which  way  are  you  going  ?  if  it's  a  fair  ques- 
tion." 

"Very  fair — Pm  bound  north." 

"Going  to  settle?" 

"Can't  say  that  I  am.  Just  taking  a  tour  of  plea- 
sure to  recreate  the  body,  and  expand  the  mental 
faculties." 

"  What  parts  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  Philadelphia." 

"  How  do  you  like  that  country  ?" 

"Philadelphia  is  not  a  country,  my  good  friend,  it 
is  a  city." 

"  Oh !  it  is  a  city  !  Is  it  a  good  place  to  live  ?" 

"Better  than  this,  a  plaguy  sight." 

"  Well,  you  don't  say  so  !  are  the  land  thar,  a/t 
good  as  this  here  ?" 

16* 


186  THE  USEFUL  MAN. 

"  Can't  tell  you — never  saw  any  land  in  my  life 
till  I  left  home." 

"  Did  you  live  in  the  water ,  if  I  mought  be  so 
bold  as  to  ax?" 

"  No,  I  lived  in  town." 

"Oh !  you  lived  in  town  !  likely,  likely.  What 
do  you  follow  for  a  living  ?" 

"Sir,  I  follow  my  own  inclinations — I'm  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  What  might  your  name  be  ?" 

By  this  time  Jemmy  was  growing  impatient.  He 
gave  his  whip  a  flourish,  and  replied  with  a  sneer, 
"  Why,  it  might  be  Julius  Caesar. 

"Scissor!"  exclaimed  the  hunter,  slowly  shoulder- 
ing his  rifle  and  turning  away,  "  mighty  poor  scis- 
sors, too  !"  Jemmy  cracked  his  whip,  and  dashed  off 
in  a  passion,  while  the  backwoodsman,  looking 
drolly  after  him,  muttered  to  himself,  "Well  if  you 
aint  the  poorest  chance,  for  a  live  man,  that  ever  1 
saw,  I'll  agree  to  shoot  nothing  but  a  shot  gun  as 
long  as  1  live  !" 

Mr.  Jemmy  Gossamer  had  not  proceeded  very 
far,  when  a  jolly  farmer,  mounted  on  a  sleek  nag, 
overtook  him,  and  very  pleasantly  saluted  him. 
Jemmy  bowed  stiffly. 

"  Peddling,  sir  ?"  enquired  the  farmer. 

"  Do  1  look  like  a  pedler?"  exclaimed  our  hero, 
in  high  dudgeon. 

*'  I  meant  no  offence,  stranger ;  I  thought,  from 


THE  USEFUL  MAN.  187 

the  way  you  are  fixed  off,  that  you  must  have  goods 
to  sell." 

"  I  would  thank  you,  sir,  to  tell  me  what  part  of 
my  equipage  resembles  that  of  a  pedler." 

"  Well,  stranger,  I'd  no  notion  of  making  you  mad, 
for  a  pedler's  just  as  good  as  another  man;  but  that 
little  carry-all  that  you  ride  in,  favours  the  Yankee 
wagons  they  drive,  mightily.  And  then  you  tote 
such  a  powerful  heap  of  plunder,  that  1  thought  you 
must  have  goods  to  sell." 

Our  traveller  drove  along  in  no  enviable  state  of 
feelings,  vexed  at  having  his  fine  carriage  denomina- 
ted a  carry-all,  mortally  offended  at  hearing  it  com- 
pared with  a  pedler's  vehicle,  and  dreadful  indignant 
that  he  himself  should  be  mistaken  for  a  travelling 
merchant.  "Was  it  for  this,"  thought  he,  "that  I 
came  all  the  way  to  Illinois  ?  Shall  I  never  be  duly 
appreciated?  Has  the  whole  world  conspired  to 
deny  me  the  homage  due  to  my  great  wealth  ?  Will 
nobody  recognise  me  as  a  gentleman  ?"  Engaged 
in  such  reflections,  he  jogged  along  for  an  hour  or 
two,  when  a  young  countryman,  who  was  trudging 
along,  with  a  bundle  at  his  back,^ery  civilly  asked 
him  to  be  kind  enough  to  tell  him  the  time  of  day. 
Soothed  by  the  respectful  manner  of  this  address, 
he  stopped,  and  drew  forth  his  elegant  gold  repeater 
-~-"just  twelve." 

"  Well,  that  are  an  elegant  watch,  I'll  be  con- 
sarned  if  it  aint !  Would  you  trade  her,  stranger?" 

"  I  don't  trade  in  watches,  my  friend." 


188  THE  USEFUL  MAN. 

"  Oh  you  don't !     Have  you  any  powder  ?" 
"  What  sort  of  powder  do  you  mean  ?" 
"  Well  I'm  not  partic'lar  what  sort ;  either  glazed 
or  rough  will  suit  me,  so  it  will  shoot  quick." 
"  I  don't  carry  gunpowder  in  my  carriage." 
"  That's  a  pity  ;  you  could  trade  a  right  smart  of 
it  in  these  parts.     Have  you  tobacco  ?" 

"How  do  you  dare  to  ask  me  such  a  question  ?" 
roared  our  dandy,  in  violent  indignation. 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  in  astonishment, 

and  calmly  replied,  "  I'm  as  white  a  man  as  you 

are.     I'll  ask  what  questions  I  please  ;  if  you  don't 

like  it,  you  can  go  ahead  with  your  little  go-cart." 

Mr.  Gossamer  gave  his  horse  a  violent  cut  with 

his  long  lash,  and  dashed  off  at  a  gallop,  determined 

to  answer  no  more  questions.     But  he  was  obliged 

to  stop  at  a  cabin,  to  get  a  drink  of  water,  and  had 

no  sooner  entered,  than  the  good  woman  of  the 

house  informed  him  that  her  "youngest  datur  was 

powerful  bad  with  the  misery  in  her  tooth,"  and 

enquired  if  "he  had  any  camfire." 

"  I  am  no  physician,  my  good  woman." 

"  I  did'nt  reckdh  you  was  ;  you  look   too  young 

for  a  doctor.     Do  you  carry  the  mail,  young  man  ?" 

From  this  eventful  day  forward,  he  gave  up  all 

hope  of  ever  being  received  as  a  gentleman.       He 

turned  his  horse's  head  eastward,  and  never  stopped 

until  he  reached  home, 

"  It  won't  all  do,"  said  he  to  his  friend,  "  I  have 
been  taken  for  a  pedler,  for  a  travelling  doctor,  and 


THE  USEFUL  MAN.  189 

for  a  mail  carrier.  I  could  not  pass  for  a  gentleman 
in  the  wilds  of  the  West,  any  more  than  in  the  cir- 
cles of  Philadelphia.  There  is  some  secret  in  it 
that  I  have  not  learned.  One  thing  is  certain,  that 
money  will  not  make  a  gentleman." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  cut  the  whole  concern.  1  shall  open  the 
old  man's  shop  to-morrow,  take  in  a  partner  who 
can  handle  the  shears^  and  become  an  operative." 

"What!  not  a  tailor!" 

"Yes  1  will— 1  will  so— I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't! 
I  cannot  be  a  gentleman — I  must  be  something— -I'll 

be  A  USEFUL  MAN," 


190 


THE    DENTIST. 


I  am  not  aware  whether  the  following  story  has 
been  told  before;  nor  is  it  any  matter — if  it  has,  my 
relation  of  it  will  have  the  effect  of  corroborating 
evidence,  and  if  it  has  not,  it  will  possess  the  merit 
of  novelty.  The  circumstance  which  led  to  a  de- 
velopement  of  the  whole  affair,  occurred  in  the 
shop  of  a  respectable  milliner  in  the  village  of 

R .     The  worthy  proprietor  of  this   rural 

emporium  of  fashions,  a  maiden  lady  of  fifty,  stood 
behind  the  counter,  as  gay  as  a  May  morning,  and 
as  neat  as  if  she  had  just  stepped  out  of  one  of  her 
own  bandboxes.  On  the  opposite  side  was  a  grave, 
middle-aged  gentleman,  who  might  have  been  buy- 
ing a  bonnet  for  his  wife,  or  paying  for  finery  for 
his  daughters.  His  countenance  was  shrewd, 
though  benevolent,  and  his  appearance  that  of  a 
professional  man  who  was  thriving  in  his  business. 


THE  DENTIST.  191 

He  was  about  to  leave  the  shop,  when  a  young  girl 
who  stepped  in  attracted  his  attention,  and  without 
seeming  to  notice  her,  he  lingered,  leaning  upon 
the  counter,  and  apparently  absorbed  in  reading  a 
newspaper.  She  was  delivering  some  beautiful 
specimens  of  needle-work.  While  the  milliner  ex- 
amined the  patterns,  the  gentleman  stood  in  a 
situation  to  have  a  full  view  of  the  face  of  the  fair 
stranger,  and  was  struck  with  its  extraordinary 
beauty.  Not  only  were  the  features  and  expression 
pleasing,  and  the  complexion  fine,  but  the  rich  glow 
of  the  cheek,  the  softness  and  intelligence  of  the 
clear  blue  eye,  and  the  youthful  brilliancy  of  the 
whole  countenance,  pointed  out  this  young  female 
as  the  possessor  of  more  than  ordinary  attractions. 
But  he  was  most  surprised  at  the  evidence  of  ex- 
treme poverty  exhibited  in  the  transaction  before 
him.  She  was  disposing  of  work,  for  a  mere  pit- 
tance, which  must  have  cost  her  immense  labour, 
and  which  showed  accomplishments,  such  as  the 
"  labouring  poor"  do  not  ordinarily  possess.  Her 
own  dress,  though  perfectly  neat,  and  managed  with 
care,  was  worn  and  faded,  and  entirely  destitute 
of  ornament.  Every  indication,  except  such  as  her 
face  and  form  afforded,  announced  her  to  belong 
to  the  humblest  rank  of  life,  and  to  be  then  endur- 
ing the  extreme  of  poverty.  But  what  most  par- 
ticularly attracted  his  attention  were  her  tine  teeth, 
the  most  beautiful  he  had  ever  seen  ;  her  coral  lips, 
and  a  smile  so  engaging  as  even  to  give  dignity  and 


192  THE  DENTIST. 

sweetness  to  the  petty  transaction,  in  which  she 
seemed  to  be  so  unsuitably  employed. 

The  stranger,  who  evidently  had  some  purpose 
in  view  in  thus  watching  the  motions  of  the  young 
girl,  seemed  to  be  much  embarrassed,  and  as  she 
lightly  tripped  away,  after  disposing  of  her  wares,  it 
was  with  an  air  of  respect,  and  some  hesitation, 
that  he  followed  her  to  the  door  and  gently  laid  his 
finger  on  her  shoulder.  She  turned  hastily,  and 
slightly  curtesied;  a  blush  suffused  her  cheek,  but 
her  calm  eye  met  that  of  the  stranger,  with  a  glance 
that  announced  the  self-possession  of  one  accustomed 
to  the  world.  He  paused,  as  if  uncertain  whether 
to  proceed ;  but  he  was  a  man  not  easily  to  be 
baulked,  and  assuming  a  familiar  tone,  which  his 
own  age,  and  the  youth,  as  well  as  the  extreme 
indigence,  of  the  person  before  him,  seemed  to 
justify,  said, 

"  My  pretty  girl,  have  you  nothing  more  to  sell?" 

"  Nothing  more,  sir." 

"  You  do  not  know  how  rich  you  are,"  continued 
the  stranger,  "  let  me  make  your  fortune  by  pur- 
chasing some  of  your  teeth." 

The  young  female  recollected  that  her  dress  was 
of  the  coarsest  kind  ;  yet  she  felt  offended  at  the 
familiarity  of  the  stranger's  manner,  as  well  as  at  a 
proposition  which  seemed  to  be  intended  as  an  un- 
feeling jest,  and  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  the 
stranger  added, — 


THE  DENTIST*  193 

"  I  am  quite  in  earnest,  and  would  most  gladly 
be  the  purchaser." 

"Indeed  !"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  cannot  imagine, 
sir,  why  you  should  wish  to  purchase  my  teeth." 

"  If  I  am  willing  to  give  you  your  own  price," 
said  the  stranger,  very  good  humpu redly.  "  it  is  not 
important  for  you  to  know  my  reasons." 

The  girl  looked  in  the  man's  face,  astonished  at 
the  oddness  of  his  proposal.  He  was  a  person  of 
respectable  appearance,  whose  prepossessing  coun- 
tenance seemed  to  assure  her,  that  he  would  not 
sport  with  the  feelings  of  the  unfortunate. 

"  I  am  in  very  serious  earnest,"  he  repeated,  "  for 
two  of  your  lower  fore-teeth,  1  will  give  you  a  price 
far  beyond  their  actual  value." 

"  That  you  are  not  jesting  1  am  bound  to  be- 
lieve," replied  the  girl,  "  since  you  say  so ;  I  am 
only  surprised  at  the  novelty  of  the  offer." 

"  Perhaps  you  think  it  would  be  more  natural  to 
dispose  of  the  whole  se^  together,  with  yourself  in 
the  bargain,"  said  the  stranger,  jokingly. 

To  his  surprise,  the  young  female  made  no  reply ; 
her  unaltered  features  and  calm  eye  seemed  to  say 
that  she  did  not  consider  herself  the  fit  subject  of  a 
jest,  and  had  no  reply  to  make  to  such  ill-timed 
pleasantry. 

The  stranger  saw  his  mistake,  and  regretted  his 
unintentional  rudeness.     He  had  touched  the  feel- 
ings of  a  sensitive  heart.     "  Pardon  me,"  said  he, 
"  I  meant  no  offence.     To  convince  you  of  my 
17 


194  THE  DENTIST. 

sincerity,  1  will  tell  you  why  I  wish  to  make  this  pur- 
chase. 1  am  a  dentist,  and  reside  in  a  neighbouring 
town.  A  patient  of  mine,  a  lady  who  is  wealthy 
and  handsome,  but  not  quite  so  young  as  you  are, 
has  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  two  of  her  fore- 
teeth. She  is  inconsolable,  and  will  not  agree  to 
have  them  replaced,  except  from  the  mouth  of  « 
young,  healthy^  handsome  girl.  Such  are  my  in- 
structions. None  but  the  most  beautiful  teeth  will 
be  accepted.  Yours  are  just  the  thing,  and  1  am 
authorised  to  offer  you  five  hundred  dollars  for  two 
such  as  I  shall  select."  The  young  female's  sur- 
prise had  kept  her  silent  when  she  first  heard  this 
singular  proposal  ;  she  smiled  when  it  was  seriously 
persisted  in  ;  but  at  last,  when  the  possibility  that 
she  might  accept  it  occurred  to  her,  a  cold  chili  ran 
through  her  frame,  and  pointing  out  her  door  to  the 
dentist,  she  requested  him  to  call  upon  her  in  half  an 
hour,  and  hastily  retired. 

As  the  reader  feels,  no  doubt,  a  laudable  curiosity 
to  be  introduced  to  all  the  persons  concerned  in 
the  interesting  catastrophe  which  is  to  follow,  1 
shall  now  present  them  separately  to  his  notice. 
The  first  in  point  of  importance,  is  a  certain  Mrs. 
Flowerby,  who,  when  I  can  first  recollect  her,  was 
a  middle-aged  widow  lady,  but  who  would  have  been 
very  much  offended  to  have  had  that  description 
applied  to  her,  even  twenty  years  afterwards.  She 
had  been — some  time  or  other,  but  I  know  not  when 
— thought  very  handsome;  and  she  thought  herself 


THE  DENTIST.  195 

quite  as  beautiful  as  ever.  She  had  a  fine  walk,  a 
stately  air,  and  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  every 
fashion.  We  used  to  call  her  Madame  Flowerby, 
and  the  boys  sometimes  nicknamed  her"  my  lady" — 
epithets  which  incensed  her  greatly,  inasmuch  as 
she  supposed  that  they  had  some  allusion  to  her 
age,  when  in  fact  they  were  given  in  reference  to 
her  pride.  Had  she  known  this,  it  would  have 
satisfied  her  ;  because,  although  people  are  ashamed 
of  being  old,  few  think  it  a  disgrace  to  be  proud 
or  childish.  The  fact  is,  that  Mrs.  Flowerby  was 
really  a  very  genteel,  and  a  very  respectable  woman, 
to  look  at — but  not  for  any  other  purpose ;  for  she 
was  not  overstocked  with  either  good  sense  or  good 
nature,  nor  do  I  know  of  a  single  valuable  quality 
that  she  had,  except  to  dress  remarkably  well,  and 
to  give  famous  parties.  I  shall  never  forget  how 
she  used  to  toss  her  head  when  she  came  in  con- 
tact with  vulgar  people,  by  which  she  meant  every 
body  that  did  not  visit  at  her  house  ;  nor  how 
sweetly  she  smiled  upon  those  who  approached  her 
with  proper  respect,  and  under  a  due  sense  of  her 
superior  perfections.  One  of  the  best  things  she 
had  was  a  fine  set  of  teeth,  and  of  all  her  posses- 
sions there  was  nothing  upon  which  she  placed  so 
proper  an  estimate  ;  every  body  admired  her  teeth, 
and  she  not  only  admired  them  herself,  but,  with  a 
laudable  public  spirit,  displayed  them  to  the  world 
upon  all  occasions.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
therefore,  that  when  two  of  those  teeth,  occupying 


196  THE  DENTIST. 

a  conspicuous  post  in  the  front,  just  between  Mrs. 
Flowerby's  ruby  lips,  and  in  the  very  centre  of  her 
smile,  were  accidentally  destroyed,  she  was  incon- 
solable. After  mourning  over  her  misfortune  for 
several  days,  she  bethought  herself  of  an  expert 
dentist  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  had  recently 
acquired  celebrity  by  his  success  in  his  vocation. 
The  dentist  displayed  before  her  a  number  of  the 
best  shaped  and  whitest  substitutes  in  his  possession. 

"  There,  madam,  is  a  beautiful  one  ;  it  is  ivory, 
but  I  cannot  vouch  that  it  will  retain  its  colour." 

"That  will  never  do,  then  ;  the  colour  must  be 
exact.  I  would  not  be  detected  in  this  matter  for 
the  world." 

"  It  would  certainly  be  very  unpleasant." 

"  Oh,  shocking  !  I  had  rather  have  any  thing  else 
said  of  me,  than  that  1  showed  false  teeth.  My  poor 
dear  teeth !  they  were  so  beautiful  !" 

"  There  are  some  handsome  ones,  ma'am,  and 
their  brilliancy  will  stand  the  touch  of  time.  No- 
thing can  be  more  natural." 

"  Oh  !  these  are  beauties  !  what  are  they  made  of?1" 

"Of  the  tooth  of  a  hippopotamus." 

"  Of  a  hippo — what  did  you  say,  sir  !" 

"  The  hippopotamus,  ma'am  ;  a  great  sea  mon- 
ster." 

"  Oh,  horrible !  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  would 
ever  have  in  my  mouth  the  fang  of  a  terrible  sea 
monster,  that  had  crushed  shoals  of  raw,  live  fish, 
in  his  voracious  jaw!" 


THE  DENTTST.  197 

"  Here,  ma'am,"  continued  the  dentist,  very  coolly 
handing  over  another  pair,  "  are  two  of  the  hand- 
somest 1  have  ever  seen.  Your  own  were  scarcely 
more  beautiful." 

"  These  are  darlings,  indeed  !  so  delicate  !  of  such 
exquisite  whiteness  !  What  are  these  made  of?" 

"  They  are  real  ;  I  took  them  from  the  mouth  of 
a  negro  boy." 

"  Oh,  you  inhuman  creature!  to  think  of  putting 
the  teeth  of  a  negro  into  the  mouth  of  a  lady — that 
is  worse  than  the  hippo — the  dreadful  sea  monster 
you  spoke  of." 

"  Then,  ma'am,  I  know  not  how  to  please  you." 

"  Sir,  I  must  be  pleased  !  I  ask  no  favours.  I  am 
able  to  pay  for  what  1  set  my  heart  upon." 

So  they  went  on  ;  until  the  conference  ended  in 
the  lady's  issuing  the  instructions,  which  we  have 
already  heard  announced  from  the  lips  of  the  dentist. 

Our  next  portrait  shall  be  that  of  the  heroine. 
But  a  few  months  had  passed  away,  since  the 
brightest  star  in  our  constellation  of  village  beauty 
was  Louisa  Hutchinson.  Her  form  was  fine,  and 
no  one  ever  beheld  her  face  without  being  struck 
with  its  beauty.  The  grace  and  loveliness  of  her 
appearance  were  exquisite.  The  blended  dignity 
and  sweetness  of  her  manner  were  unrivalled.  Her 
mind  was  vigorous  and  sprightly,  her  wit  playful, 
and  her  conversation  highly  attractive.  Above  all 
there  was  a  joyousness,  an  air  of  chaste  hilarity, 
that  was  particularly  engaging,  and  won  the  m- 
17* 


198  THE  DENTIST. 

voluntary  homage  of  all  who  approached  her.  She 
was  joy  personified.  To  behold  her  smile,  and  not 
to  feel  its  power,  was  impossible.  Her  eye,  her 
cheek,  her  lip,  all  smiled  in  unison,  as  if  the  stream 
of  intellectual  gladness  overflowed  its  fountain,  and 
beamed  from  every  feature.  Do  I  dream  when  I 
paint  her  thus  ?  Far  from  it.  Such  was  Louisa 
when  1  knew  her  first ;  when  her  voice  was  music, 
and  her  touch  enchantment;  when  she  was  the  lu- 
minary about  whom  all  lesser  lights  revolved  ;  when 
she  warmed  and  animated  all.  She  was  the  Belle. 
To  admire  her  was  the  criterion  of  taste ;  to  follow, 
to  love,  to  pay  her  homage,  was  the  common  fate  of 
the  village  youth ;  and  no  one  was  properly  gra- 
duated in  the  school  of  fashion,  who  had  not  duly 
enrolled  himself  among  the  number  who  were 
vanquished  by  her  fascinations.  If  such  was  the 
beautiful  reality,  as  pictured  to  the  eye  of  an  unim- 
passioned  observer,  who  shall  describe  the  lovely 
vision  that  was  imprinted  on  the  heart  of  a  devoted 
and  favoured  lover?  No  tongue  can  speak,  nor 
does  it  enter  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive — 
unless  he  be  an  accepted  lover — how  the  soul 
clings,  and  doats,  and  revels  in  such  a  passion,  for  so 
bright  an  object !  Not  every  heart  has  the  capacity 
to  enjoy  such  a  fulness  of  bliss.  There  was  one  who 
did  feel,  and  was  worthy  to  enjoy  it,  and  of  him  we 
shall  speak  hereafter. 

Louisa  had  lost  her  mother,  and  her  father  was 
old.     He  had  been  in  good  circumstances ;  but  age 


THE  DENTIST.  199 

and  misfortune  had  combined  to  reduce  him  to  the 
most  hopeless  poverty.  His  exact  situation  was  for 
a  long  while  concealed  from  the  public.  Few  were 
acquainted  with  the  true  situation  of  his  affairs.  He 
had  retired  from  business,  had  no  visible  income, 
and  was  too  infirm  to  make  any  personal  exertions 
to  support  his  family.  Yet  there  was  a  decent  ap- 
pearance of  comfort  about  his  little  mansion,  which 
precluded  the  idea  of  absolute  want.  Louisa  was 
always  plainly,  but  neatly  attired  ;  and  so  much  did 
the  simple  style  of  her  dress  add  to  her  native 
graces,  that  many  who  knew  the  delicacy  of  her 
taste  supposed  that  she  had  adopted  this  mode  of 
dress  from  choice,  and  even  from  a  refinement  of 
coquetry.  Her  little  parlour  was  the  scene  of  cheer- 
fulness. By  and  by  things  began  to  change  ;  one 
article  of  furniture  after  another  disappeared ; 
Louisa  joined  the  parties  of  her  companions  less 
frequently  ;  and  those  who  called,  were  often  refused 
admittance,  under  the  pleas  that  Miss  Hutchinson 
was  engaged,  or  indisposed.  At  last,  her  only 
servant  was  dismissed,  and  the  truth  was  no  longer 
dissembled,  that  Louisa  was  not  only  the  nurse  of 
her  aged  parent,  but  laboured  night  and  day  to  pro- 
cure for  him  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  She 
was  not  ashamed  of  these  employments,  nor  did 
any  think  them  disgraceful ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
number  of  her  friends  and  admirers  increased  with 
this  new  display  of  the  loveliness  of  her  character. 
She  continued  to  be  the  queen  of  hearts,  the  orna- 


200  THE  DENTIST. 

ment  and  pride  of  the  village.  Happily  there  is,  as 
yet,  in  our  country,  but  little  of  the  miserable  pride 
of  aristocracy  ;  and  an  accomplished  woman  is  not 
spurned  from  society,  because  necessity  obliges  her 
to  become  an  active  agent  in  the  business  of  life, 
and  the  pride  and  stay  of  those  who  depend  on  her 
exertions.  Many  of  Louisa's  friends  kindly  offered 
their  assistance  ;  and  her  young  companions  would 
often  aid  her  in  the  needle  work  by  which  she 
gained  a  livelihood.  It  is  even  asserted,  by  those 
who  pretend  to  know  all  about  such  matters,  that 
her  opportunities  for  entering  into  the  blessed  state 
of  matrimony  increased  with  her  misfortunes,  and 
that  there  was  no  day  in  her  life,  in  which  the 
proudest  youth  in  the  town  would  not  have  been 
happy  to  lead  her  to  the  altar.  But  her  heart  was 
pledged,  and  she  was  of  too  noble  a  nature  to  pur- 
chase affluence  by  the  sacrifice  of  its  best  affections. 
The  supplies  of  friendship  were  scanty,  and  soon 
exhausted.  Charity,  in  its  best  form,  affords  but  a 
miserable  relief.  Its  fountains  are  meagre  and  un- 
steady. Under  its  kindest  aspect  it  brings  a  dis- 
tressing sense  of  dependence.  Louisa's  father  was 
a  weak  and  a  proud  man,  in  whose  mind  the  de- 
crepitude of  age  had  destroyed  all  the  firmness  of 
manhood,  while  its  foibles  remained  unchanged. 
She  refused,  therefore,  the  assistance  of  some  from 
delicacy,  and  of  others  from  the  fear  of  offending  her 
father ;  some  of  her  friends  married,  and  left  the 
village  ;  others  became  reduced  like  herself,  until  at 


THE    DENTIST.  201 

last  her  solitary  hours  were  spent  alone,  and  her 
table  supported  solely  by  the  labour  of  her  own 
hands.  She  had  one  friend,  who  forsook  her  not : 
she  had  a  conscience  void  of  offence,  a  meek  and 
firm  reliance  in  the  Redeemer,  and  an  unshaken 
faith,  that  He  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb,  would  not  forsake  the  orphan  girl  who 
watched  over  the  bed  of  a  dying  parent. 

Louisa  had  an  accepted  lover,  who  was  worthy 
of  her  affection  ;  but  he  knew  little  of  the  real  state 
of  her  affairs.  He  was  aware  that  her  father  was 
poor,  but  not  that  he  was  in  want.  He  well  knew 
that  she  had  nothing  to  bestow  but  herself.  He 
had  been  absent  from  the  village  for  several  years, 
in  the  service  of  a  merchant,  at  a  distant  city,  and 
only  saw  Louisa  in  the  short  visits  that  he  was  oc- 
casionally allowed  to  make.  He,  too,  was  indigent, 
and  their  marriage  depended  on  the  contingency  of 
his  becoming  established  in  business.  This  was 
another  motive  inducing  Louisa  to  withdraw  from 
public  notice,  to  conceal  her  extreme  penury,  and 
to  reject,  rather  than  solicit,  assistance.  She  was 
unwilling  that  her  lover  should  know  that  she  was 
labouring  fora  subsistence  ;  not  because  she  feared 
that  it  would  degrade  her  in  his  eyes,  for  she  knew 
that  he  had  too  much  good  sense  to  indulge  such 
feelings ;  but  she  could  not  consent  to  wound  his 
sensibility,  or  to  place  him  and  herself  in  so  awk- 
ward a  situation  as  a  knowledge  of  these  facts  would 
have  imposed. 


202  THE    DENTIST. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  became  seriously  ill.  So  long  as 
he  had  laboured  only  under  the  ordinary  weakness 
of  old  age,  she  could  sit  by  him  and  work  ;  but  now 
he  was  confined  to  bed,  and  her  whole  time  was 
consumed  in  the  necessary  care  of  the  invalid.  A 
physician  was  called  in  ;  wine  and  other  expensive 
articles  had  to  be  purchased  ;  poor  Louisa  found 
herself  surrounded  by  wants  and  difficulties  too 
great  for  all  her  exertions  ;  and  her  courage  began 
to  sink,  when  her  parent  asked  for  refreshments 
which  she  could  not  give  him,  and,  in  the  petulance 
of  dotage,  reproached  her  for  negligence  of  his  wants. 
Still,  although  a  tear  sometimes  stole  down  her 
cheek,  her  step  was  firm,  and  her  face  serene ;  she 
uttered  no  complaint,  but  bent  her  knee  in  prayer, 
bowed  her  heart  in  submission,  and  felt  that  peace 
which  the  world  cannot  give  nor  take  away. 

Such  was  her  situation,  when  she  had  gone  to 
the  milliner,  as  she  feared,  for  the  last  time  ;  for 
she  knew  not  how  to  get  materials,  or  to  find  time, 
for  a  new  effort.  When  she  returned  home,  she 
retired  to  her  own  room,  and  sunk  down  in  an  agony 
of  grief.  The  gradual  but  heavy  pressure  of  po- 
verty, the  long  days  of  labour  and  the  long  nights  of 
watching,  the  solicitude  of  filial  affection,  the  pang 
of  "  hope  deferred,"  and  all  her  other  afflictions, 
she  had  borne  with  a  woman's  fortitude,  for  they 
were  woman's  peculiar  trials,  and  thousands  of  her 
sex  have  borne  them  without  a  murmur.  But  when 
relief,  and  even  affluence,  appeared  within  her 


THE    DENTIST.  203 

grasp,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  sacrifice  by  which 
that  relief  was  to  be  purchased,  presented  itself  on 
the  other,  all  her  sensibilities  were  at  once  awake,n- 
ed.  Her  beauty  had  been  that  possession  which 
the  world  had  most  admired  ;  it  had  procured  her 
homage  and  adulation,  and  given  her  the  sway  of  all 
the  hearts  around  her.  Had  she  not  prized  it  herself, 
she  would  have  been  more*  or  less,  than  human. 
She  thought  of  him  who  had  garnered  up  his  hopes 
in  her  affection  ;  she  knew  not  what  portion  of 
the  devoted  and  faithful  love  of  Edward  Linton  she 
owed  to  her  personal  charms,  nor  how  that  affection 
might  change,  could  he  behold  her  disfigured*  and 
shorn  of  her  beauty.  She  thought  of  her  suffering 
parent,  and,  with  that  courage  which  had  hereto- 
fore marked  all  her  conduct,  determined  on  the 
sacrifice. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  half  hour,  the  dentist 
repaired  to  the  miserable  abode  of  the  unhappy 
girl.  It  was  small,  but  had  once  been  a  comforta- 
ble residence ;  it  was  now  dilapidated  and  disfur- 
nished.  Louisa  received  him  with  calm  politeness, 
and  directed  him  to  proceed  at  once  to  the  opera- 
tion. He  paused,  and  then  slowly  counted  down 
the  stipulated  sum.  Finding  that  no  objection  was 
made,  he  proceeded  to  extract  two  of  her  finest 
teeth,  and  then  withdrew.  Louia's  first  emotion 
was  thankfulness  for  the  seasonable  relief,  and  joy 
and  pride  that  she  could  now  soothe  the  dying  pillow 
of  a  parent.  For  the  present,  her  cares  admitted 


204  THE    DENTIST. 

no  other  thought.  Her  father  was  rapidly  declining* 
As  he  summoned  his  strength  for  the  last  strug- 
gle,  he  seemed  to  be  favoured  with  that  strong  gleam 
of  intellectual  light,  which  sometimes  glows  over 
the  departing  soul,  as  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun 
burst  forth  before  the  evening  closes.  He  felt  and 
acknowledged  the  sacrifices  and  cares  of  his  daugh- 
ter, thanked  and  blessed  her  for  all  her  kindness, 
and  breathed  his  last  in  peace  of  mind. 

We  have  explained  how  Louisa  became  gradual- 
ly estranged  from  her  friends,  and  left  to  struggle 
alone  against  her  afflictions.  The  news  of  her  fa- 
ther's death  drew  her  former  acquaintances  to  the 
house  of  sorrow,  and  they  were  shocked  at  the  full 
discovery  of  her  situation  and  sufferings.  Every 
office  of  kindness  was  cheerfully  performed;  Louisa 
was  taken  to  the  house  of  a  friend,  where,  sustained 
no  longer  by  those  feelings  which  had  heretofore 
supported  her,  she  sunk  under  a  violent  attack  of 
fever.  In  her  dreams  of  delirium  she  thought  only 
of  Edward Linton,  her  impassionate  admirer,  whose 
love  had  been  her  pride,  and  whose  constancy  had 
formed  one  of  her  greatest  consolations.  Her  dis- 
eased imagination  pictured  him  ripened  into  matu- 
rer  manhood,  risen  from  indigence  to  prosperity, 
and  grown  callous  to  the  love  of  his  youth.  As  she 
slowly  regained  her  health,  and  vigour  of  mind,  this 
fearful  dream  still  preyed  upon  her  spirits  ;  and  when 
she  contemplated  her  faded  features,  and  the  sad 
ravages  made  in  her  beauty,  by  the  sacrifice  she 


THE    DENTIST.  205 

had  so  nobly  made  to  filial  duty,  her  pride  induced 
her  to  determine  to  release  him  from  his  engage- 
ments. She  wrote  him  a  feeling  and  delicate  let- 
ter, in  which,  after  alluding  to  the  recent  loss  of 
her  parent,  she  assured  him  that  her  own  circum- 
stances were  so  changed  as  to  render  their  union 
impossible,  conjuring  him  neither  to  answer  her 
letter,  nor  to  seek  an  interview  which  could  only 
be  painful  to  both.  Thus  was  a  noble  minded  girl, 
whose  whole  life  had  been  a  continual  sacrifice  of 
feeling  to  duty,  misled,  by  the  pride  of  beauty,  into 
an  act  which  she  believed  to  be  disinterested,  but 
which  in  truth  was  unjust. 

Edward  was  a  man  of  strong  mind,  and  gene- 
rous feelings.  His  first  impulse  was  to  hasten  to 
Louisa,  for  his  heart  was  wrung,  and  his  long  che- 
ished  hopes  blasted,  by  her  letter.  But  he,  too,  was 
proud  and  acted  on  the  same  principle  which  had 
governed  her.  He  was  poor,  and  she  was,  as  he 
supposed,  still  the  pride  of  the  village.  He  had 
nothing  to  offer  but  himself,  while  her  charms  might 
enable  her  to  match  herself  with  the  wealthiest,  or 
the  most  honourable.  Had  he  been  rich,  he  would 
have  eagerly  sought  an  explanation,  but  poor  as  he 
was,  he  only  wept  over  Louisa's  letter,  and  deter- 
mined to  submit.  In  another  week  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Europe,  as  supercargo  of  a  fine  ship.  His 
voyage  was  quick  and  prosperous.  The  war  be- 
tween Great  Britain  and  the  United  States,  which 
18 


206  THE    DENTIST. 

broke  out  after  he  sailed,  enabled  him  to  sell  his 
cargo  at  an  advance  far  beyond  the  most  sanguine 
hopes  of  his  owners.  His  homeward  voyage  was 
short,  and  already  the  shores  of  his  native  land  were 
in  sight,  when  he  was  captured  by  a  British  cruiser. 
A  prize  master  was  placed  on  board,  and  the  ship 
ordered  to  Halifax.  Three  days  after,  by  a  bold 
and  well-concerted  plan,  he  rose  with  his  own  men 
upon  the  prize  crew,  obtained  the  mastery  over 
them,  and  carried  the  ship  safely  into  New  York. 

His  good  conduct  was  munificently  rewarded  by 
the  owners,  and  he  found  himself  in  easy  circum- 
stances. 

Two  years  afterwards,  as  Dr.  Nippers,  the  dentist, 
sat  one  pleasant  evening  at  his  door,  patting  the 
curly  head  of  a  little  urchin  who  climbed  on  his 
knee,  a  handsome  carriage  drove  up,  and  a  lady, 
richly,  but  not  gaudily  dressed,  alighted.  She  was 
shown  in  due  form  into  the  doctor's  study,  the  ope- 
rating chair  was  wheeled  out  into  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and  the  worthy  dentist  stood  ready  to  obey 
the  commands  of  his  fair  visiter,  whose  surpassing 
beauty  and  graceful  carriage  struck  him  with  the 
same  awe  which  would  have  been  produced  by  the 
advent  of  a  supernatural  being. 

"  Have  1  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Dr.  Nippers  ?" 
enquired  the  lady. 

"  That  is  my  name,  ma'am,  at  your  service,"  re- 
plied the  dentist,  bowing  obsequiously,  but  so  awk- 
wardly as  to  upset  a  half  a  dozen  phials. 


THE    DENTIST.  207 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  your  great  skill  as  a  den- 
tist." 

41  My  fame,  ma'am,"  rejoined  the  dentist,  mo- 
destly, "  is  perhaps  greater  than  my  merits  ;  though  I 
flatter  myself  that  I  have  been  of  some  service  to 
the  afflicted,  in  my  line." 

"Do  you  recollect  having  purchased  a  pair  of 
teeth  from  a  poor  girl,  a  few  years  ago,  for  a  large 
sum  of  money?" 

•l  Oh,  very  well,  very  well  — that  affair  has  been 
on  my  conscience  ever  since.  The  poor  girl  was 
suffering  under  some  strange  affliction,  and  I  have  a 
thousand  times  reflected  on  myself,  for  not  giving 
her  the  money,  and  putting  a  couple  of  shark's  fangs 
in  old  Madame  Flowerby's  mouth.  Poor  thing ! 
1  fear  the  loss  of  her  teeth  unsettled  her  intellects." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"  She  shortly  after  left  the  village  very  suddenly, 
and  I  then  learned  to  my  sorrow,  that  instead  of 
practising  upon  an  humble  girl,  to  whom  the  money 
would  have  been  a  sufficient  compensation,  I  had 
by  mistake  robbed  an  accomplished  young  lady  of 
one  of  her  chief  ornaments.  Some  time  after,  1  heard 

that  she  was  teaching  a  school  in ;  there  I 

followed  her  determined  to  make  all  the  reparation 
in  my  power.  But  the  very  day  before  I  arrived 
there,  a  young  gentleman  came  and  carried  her 
off " 

"  And  married  her  in  spite  of  her  teeth?"  enquired 
the  lady,  archly. 


208  THE    DENTIST. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  replied  the  good  dentist,  too  un- 
suspicious in  his  nature  to  recognise  the  victim  of 
his  pullikens  in  the  lady  before  him. 

"  I  am  that  lady,"  rejoined  his  visiter,  "  and  I 
have  come  to  restore  your  money,  and  to  beg  you 
to  replace  my  teeth." 

"  Most  cheerfully  !  here  they  are,  the  identical 
teeth.  Madame  Flovverby  changed  her  mind  about 
them  ten  times  in  one  week— in  the  next  week  she 
died.  1  kept  them  as  models,  and  beautiful  ones 
they  are." 

The  lady  then  rose,  and  after  informing  him 
where  she  lodged,  desired  him  to  call  the  next  day 
and  inquire  for  Mrs.  Linton. 


209 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM 


I  passed  an  evening  lately  in  company  with  a 
number  of  young  persons,  who  had  met  together  for 
the  laudable  purpose  of  spending  a  merry  Christmas; 
and  as  mirth  exercises  a  prescriptive  right  of  sove- 
reignty at  this  good  old  festival,  every  one  came 
prepared  to  pay  due  homage  to  that  pleasant  deity. 
The  party  was  opened  with  all  the  usual  ceremo- 
nies ;  the  tea  was  sipped,  the  cakes  praised,  and  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  last  novel  criticised  ;  and  such  was 
the  good  humour  which  prevailed,  that  although 
our  fair  hostess  threw  an  extra  portion  of  bohea 
into  her  tea-pot,  not  a  breath  of  scandal  floated 
among  the  vapours  of  that  delightful  beverage.  An 
aged  gentleman  who  happened  to  drop  in,  at  first 
claimed  the  privilege,  as  "  an  old  Revolutioner,"  of 
18* 


210  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

monopolizing  the  conversation,  and  entertained  us 
with  facetious  tales,  told  the  fiftieth  time,  of  Tarle- 
ton's  trumpeter,  General  Washington's  white  horse, 
and  Governor  Mifflin's  cocked  hat,  with  occasional 
pathetic  digressions  relating  to  bear-fights  and  Indian 
massacres.  The  honest  veteran,  however,  who  was 
accustomed  to  retire  after  smoking  one  pipe,  soon 
grew  drowsy,  and  a  similar  affection,  by  sympathy 
I  suppose,  began  to  circulate  among  his  audience, 
when  our  spirits  received  a  new  impulse  from  an 
accidental  turn  of  the  conversation  from  three  cor- 
nered hats  and  horses,  to  courtship  and  marriage. 
The  relative  advantages  of  married  life  and  celiba- 
cy were  discussed  with  great  vivacity,  and  as  there 
were  a  number  of  old  bachelors  and  antiquated 
maidens  present,  who  had  thought  deeply  and  feel- 
ingly on  the  subject,  and  were,  therefore,  able  to 
discuss  it  with  singular  felicity,  the  ladies'  side  of  the 
question  had  greatly  the  advantage.  A  gentleman, 
who  had  reluctantly  left  the  card-table  to  join  the 
ladies,  gave  his  opinion  that  life  was  like  a  game  of 
cards — a  good  player  was  often  eucred  by  a  bad 
partner — he  thought- it  wise,  therefore,  to  play  alone. 
"  Perhaps,"  said  a  fair  miss,  ll  a  good  partner  might 
assist  you."  "  Thank  you,  madam,"  said  he  "  court- 
ing a  wife  is  nothing  more  than  cutting  for  partners  ; 
no  one  knows  what  card  he  may  turn."  My  friend 
Absalom  Squaretoes  gravely  assured  us  that  he  had 
pondered  on  this  subject  long  and  deeply,  and  it 
had  caused  him  more  perplexity  than  the  banking 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  211 

system,  or  the  Missouri  question ;  that  there  were 
^eve^al  ladies  whom  he  might  have  had,  and  whom, 
at  one  time  or  another,  he  had  determined  to  marry, 
"but,"  continued  he,  arching  his  eyebrows  with  a 
dignity  which  the  great  Fadladeen  might  have 
envied,  "  the  more  I  hesitated,  the  less  inclination  I 
felt  to  try  the  experiment,  and  I  am  now  convinced 
that  marriage  is  not  the  thing  it  is  cracked  up  to  be  !" 
Miss  Tabitha  Scruple,  a  blooming  maid  of  three 
score,  confessed  that  for  her  part,  she  was  very 
much  of  Mr.  Squaretoes'  opinion — it  was  well 
enough  for  honest  pains-taking  people  to  get  mar- 
ried, but  she  could  not  see  how  persons  of  sentiment 
could  submit  to  it — "  unless  indeed,"  she  admitted, 
"  congenial  souls  could  meet,  and,  without  merce- 
nary views,  join  in  the  tender  bond — but  men  are 
so  deceitful,  one  runs  a  great  risk,  you  know  !" 

Mr.  Smoothtongue,  the  lawyer,  who  had  waited 
to  hear  every  other  opinion  before  he  gave  his  own, 
now  rose,  and  informed  the  company  that  he  would 
conclude  the  case,  by  stating  a  few  points,  which 
had  occurred  to  him  in  the  course  of  the  argument. 
He  began  by  informing  us  the  question  was  one  of 
great  importance,  and  that  much  might  be  said  on 
both  sides — ("  Twig  the  lawyer,"  said  Squaretoes.) 
He  said  that  so  great  a  man  as  Lord  Burleigh,  treasu- 
rer to  Queen  Elizabeth,  had  written  ten  rules  of 
conduct,  which  he  charged  his  son  to  observe  and 
keep  next  to  the  ten  laws  of  Moses,  and  that  the 
very  first  of  them  related  to  the  choice  of  a  wife. 


212  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

He  pointed  out  all  the  unfortunate  husbands  men- 
tioned  in  history,  from  Adam  down  to  George  the 
Fourth,  and  after  detailing  the   relative  duties  of 
baron  "and  /erne,  as  laid  down   in  Blackstone,  con- 
cluded  with   sundry  extracts   from   Pope,  whose 
works  he  declared  he  set  more  store  to  than  those  of 
any  writer  in   the  English  language,  except   Mr. 
Chitty.     He  was  interrupted  by  a  young  lady,  who 
declared  that  Pope  was   a  nasty   censorious   old 
bachelor — so  he  was.     The  lawyer  replied,  that  as 
Mr.  Pope's  general  character  was  not  implicated  in 
the  present  question,   it    could  not  be  properly 
attacked,  nor  was   he  called  on  to  defend  it — and 
that,  as  long  as  his  veracity  was  unimpeached,  his 
testimony   must  be  believed,  which   he  offered  to 
prove  from  "  Peake's  Evidence,"  if  the  lady  desired 
him  to  produce  authority.     The  lady  assured  him 
that  she  was  greatly  edified  by  his  exposition  of  the 
law,  and  had  no  desire  to  see  the  books — but  con- 
fessed that  though  she  admired   his   speech   very 
much,  she  was  still  at  a  loss  to  know  which  side  he 
was  on.     "JMadam,"  said  he,  with  great  gravity,  "  1 
admire  marriage  as  a  most  excellent  civil  institu- 
tion, but  have  no  inclination  to  engage  in  it,  as  I  can 
never  consent  to  tie  a  knot  with  my  tongue  which  I 
cannot  untie  with  my  teeth." 

These  opinions  coming  from  such  high  authority, 
seemed  to  settle  the  controversy,  and  the  question 
was  about  to  be  carried  nem.  con.  in  favour  of  celi- 
bacy, when  an  unlucky  miss,  whose  cheeks,  and 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  213 

lips,  and  teeth,  reminded  one  of  pearls,  and  cherries, 
and  peaches,  while  all  the  loves  and  graces  laughed 
in  her  eyes,  uttered  something  in  a  loud  whisper 
about  "  sour  grapes,"  which  created  a  sensation 
among  a  certain  part  of  the  company,  of  which  you 
can  form  no  adequate  idea,  unless  you  have  wit- 
nessed the  commotions  of  a  bee  hive.  I  now  began 
to  be  seriously  afraid  that  our  Christmas  gambols 
would  eventuate  in  a  tragical  catastrophe — and 
anticipating  nothing  less  than  a  general  pulling  of 
caps,  was  meditating  on  the  propriety  of  saving  my 
own  curly  locks,  by  a  precipitate  retreat.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  another  speaker  had  taken  the 
floor,  and  before  any  open  hostilities  were  commit- 
ted, drew  the  attention  of  the  belligerents,  by  a 
vivid  description  of  Fiddler's  Green.  This,  he  as- 
sured us,  was  a  residence  prepared  in  the  other 
world  for  maids  and  bachelors,  where  they  were 
condemned  as  a  punishment  for  their  lack  of  good 
fellowship  in  this  world,  to  dance  together  to  all 
eternity.  Here  was  a  new  field  for  speculation.  A 
variety  of  opinions  were  hazarded  ;  but  as  the 
ladies  all  talked  together,  1  was  unable  to  collect 
the  half  of  them.  Some  appeared  to  regard  such  a 
place  as  a  paradise,  while  others  seemed  to  consider 
it  as  a  pandemonium.  The  ladies  desired  to  know 
whether  they  would  be  provided  with  good  music 
and  good  partners  ;  and  I  could  overhear  some  of 
the  gentlemen  calculating  the  chances  of  a  snug 
loo-party,  in  a  back  room.  On  these  points  our 


214  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

informant  was  unable  to  throw  any  light.  The 
general  impression  seemed  to  be  that  the  managers 
of  this  everlasting  ball  would  couple  off  the  compa- 
ny by  lot,  and  that  no  appeal  could  be  had  from 
their  decision.  Miss  Scruple  declared  that  she 
had  a  mortal  aversion  to  dancing,  though  she  would 
not  object  to  leading  off  a  set  occasionally  with 
particular  persons ,  and  that  she  would  rather  be 
married  half  a  dozen  times,  than  be  forced  to  jig 
it  with  any  body  and  every  body.  Mr.  Skinflint 
thought  so  long  a  siege,  of  capering  would  be  rather 
expensive  on  pumps,  and  wished  to  know  who  was 
to  suffer.  Mr.  Squaretoes  had  no  notion  of  using 
pumps,  he  thought  moccasins  would  do ;  he  was 
for  cheap  fixings  and  strong.  Miss  Fanny  Flirt  was 
delighted  with  the  whole  plan,  provided  they  could 
change  partners  ;  for  she  could  imagine  no  punish- 
ment more  cruel  than  to  be  confined  for  ever  to  a 
single  beau.  Mr.  Goosy  thought  it  would  be  expe- 
dient for  to  secure  partners  in  time,  and  begged 
Miss  Demure  to  favour  him  with  her  hand  for  an 
etarnal  reel.  Little  Sophy  Sparkle,  the  cherry- 
lipped  belle,  who  had  nearly  been  the  instrument  of 
kindling  a  war  as  implacable  as  that  of  the  Greeks 
and  Trojans,  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  again  giving 
offence ;  but,  on  being  asked  her  opinion,  declared 
that  it  was  the  most  charming  scheme  she  ever 
heard,  and  that  she  would  dance  as  long  as  she 
could  stand,  with  any  body  or  nobody,  rather  than 
not  dance  at  all. 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  215 

During  all  this  time  I  was  lolling  over  the  back 
of  a  chair, — a  lazy  habit  which  with  many  others  I 
have  caught  since  my  third  sweetheart  turned  me 
off — and  was  rolling  and  twisting  the  pretty  Sophy's 
handkerchief — for  1  can't  be  idle — into  every  pos- 
sible form  and  shape.  I  was  startled  into  consci- 
ousness by  the  dulcet  voice  of  my  fair  companion, 
as  she  exclaimed,  "  La!  Mr.  Drywit,  how  melancho- 
ly you  are  !  how  can  you  look  so  cross  when  every 
body  else  is  laughing?  pray  what  do  you  think  of 
the  grand  ball  at  Fiddler's  Green  ?"  "  1  never 
trouble  myself,  madam,  to  think  about  things  which 
do  not  concern  me."  "  Oh  dear  !  then  you  have  no 
idea  of  going  there  ?"  "  Not  I  indeed, — I  go  to  no 
such  places."  "And  not  expecting  to  inhabit  the 
paradise  of  bachelors,  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  you  how  your  friends  enjoy  themselves?"  "  No, 
indeed  :  1  sincerely  hope  that  you  may  caper  into 
each  other's  good  graces,  and  romp  yourselves  into 
the  best  humour  imaginable  with  the  pains  and 
pleasures  of  l  single  blessedness  ;'  as  for  my  single 
self  I  intend,  unless  some  lady  shall  think  proper  to 
stand  in  her  own  light,  to  alter  my  condition." 
Having  uttered  this  heroic  resolution,  1  made  my 
bow  and  retired.  But  the  conversation  of  the  eve- 
ning still  haunted  my  imagination,  and  as  I  sunk  to 
sleep,  General  Washington's  white  horse,  Sophy 
Sparkle,  and  Fiddler's  Green,  alternately  occupied 
my  brain,  until  the  confused  images  settling  into  a 
regular  train  of  thought,  produced  the  following 
vision. 


216 

1  thought  that  the  hour  of  my  dissolution  had 
arrived,  and  I  was  about  to  take  my  departure  to 
the  world  of  spirits.  The  solemnity  of  the  event 
which  was  taking  place  did  not  affect  me  however, 
as  it  would  have  done,  had  the  same  circumstance 
occurred  in  reality  ;  for  my  mind  was  entirely  filled 
with  the  conversation  of  the  previous  evening,  and 
I  thought,  felt,  and  died  like  a  true  bachelor.  As  I 
left  the  clay  tenement  which  I  had  inhabited  so 
long,  I  could  not  avoid  hovering  over  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, to  take  a  parting  view  of  the  temple  which 
had  confined  my  restless  spirit,  and  for  which,  I 
must  confess,  I  had  a  high  respect.  I  could  now 
perceive  that  time  had  made  ravages  in  the  features 
which  had  lately  been  mine,  that  1  had  not  been 
aware  of  while  living,  and  that  the  frame  which  had 
carried  me  through  a  stormy  world,  was  somewhat 
the  worse  for  the  wear,  and  I  really  felt  a  joy  in 
escaping  from  it,  similar  to  the  emotions  with  which 
the  mariner  quits  the  shattered  bark  that  has  braved 
the  billows  through  a  long  voyage.  Still,  however, 
I  felt  something  like  regret  in  quitting  my  ancient 
habitation,  and  was  beginning  to  recall  to  memory 
the  conquests  I  had  made  in  it,  and  the  sieges  it  had 
withstood,  when  I  was  obliged  to  take  my  depar- 
ture. I  had  always  thought  that  spirits  flew  out  of 
a  window,  or  up  the  chimney,  but  I  now  found  that 
whatever  might  have  been  the  practice  of  others, 
mine  was  a  ghost  of  too  much  politeness  to  with- 
draw in  this  manner  from  a  house  in  which  I  had 


217 

been  only  a  boarder ;  and  accordingly  1  walked  de- 
liberately down  stairs,  and  passed  through  the  par- 
lour, where  several  of  my  female  acquaintances 
were  talking  of  me.  The  curiosity  which  we  have 
all  inherited  from  our  first  mother,  would  have  in- 
duced me  to  stop,  had  I  not  recollected  that  it 
would  be  very  ill  bred  in  me  to  listen  to  the  dis- 
course of  those  who  were  not  aware  of  my  pre- 
sence, and  that,  according  to  the  old  saw,  "  listeners 
never  hear  any  good  of  themselves."  I  therefore 
passed  on,  but  could  not  avoid  observing  that  the 
current  of  opinion  was  rather  in  my  favour,  and  that 
those  who  allowed  me  no  good  quality  while  living, 
now  confessed  that  at  least  I  had  no  harm  in  me. 
As  soon  as  1  reached  the  open  air,  my  spirit  began 
to  ascend  for  some  distance,  and  then  floated  rapidly 
towards  the  north.  It  was  a  brilliant  evening,  and 
as  the  stars  shone  with  uncommon  lustre,  I  could 
not  help  fancying  them  the  eyes  of  millions  of  beau- 
ties, who,  having  made  it  their  business  to  teaze  the 
beaux  in  this  world,  were  doomed  to  light  them  to 
the  next. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had  been  journeying, 
when  1  discovered  the  sea  beneath  me,  filled  with 
mountains  of  ice,  and  I  perceived  that  1  was  rapidly 
aproaching  the  north  pole.  I  now  congratulated 
myself  upon  being  able  to  determine,  by  actual  ob- 
servation, whether  the  poles  are  flattened  as  some 
philosophers  imagine,  together  with  other  questions 
of  like  importance  to  the  happiness  of  mankind. 
19 


218  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

But  how  great  was  my  surprise  when  on  arriving 
at  the  place,  1  found  that  all  the  philosophers  in 
the  world  were  mistaken,  except  Captain  Symmes, 
and  discovered  only  a  yawning  cavern,  into  which 
I  was  suddenly  precipitated  ! 

I  now  travelled  for  some  distance  in  utter  dark- 
ness, and  began  to  be  very  fearful  of  losing  my  way, 
when  1  suddenly  emerged  into  a  new  world,  full  of 
beauty,  melody,  and  brightness.  I  stood  on  the 
brink  of  a  small  rivulet,  and  beheld  before  me  an 
extensive  lawn,  of  the  richest  green,  spangled  with 
millions  of  beautiful  flowers.  Clusters  of  trees  and 
vines  were  scattered  in  every  direction,  loaded  with 
delicious  fruit.  Birds  of  the  loveliest  plumage 
floated  in  the  air,  and  rilled  the  groves  with  melody. 
The  garden  of  Eden,  or  the  paradise  of  Mahomet, 
could  not  be  arrayed  by  a  poetic  fancy  with  half 
the  charms  of  this  elysium. 

While  I  stood  enchanted  with  delight,  a  strain  of 
music  stole  along  the  air,  resembling  that  which 
proceeds  from  a  number  of  violins,  tambourines, 
and  triangles,  and  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  re- 
cognise the  well  known  air  of  "  O  dear  what  can 
the  matter  be  !"  At  the  same  moment  I  perceived 
a  female  figure  advancing  with  a  rapid  motion,  re- 
sembling a  hop,  step  and  jump.  1  now  cast  a  glance 
over  my  own  person,  as  a  genteel  spirit  would  natu- 
rally do  at  the  approach  of  a  female,  and  discovered 
for  the  first  time,  that  although  I  had  left  my  sub- 
stance in  the  other  world,  1  was  possessed  of  an 


219 

airy  form  precisely  similar  to  the  one  I  had  left 
behind  me,  and  was  clad  in  the  ghost  of  a  suit  of 
clothes  made  after  the  newest  fashion,  which  I  had 
purchased  a  few  days  before  my  death.  I  mechani- 
cally raised  my  hand  to  adjust  my  cravat,  but  felt 
nothing,  and  sighed  to  think  that  1  was  but  the  sha- 
dow of  a  gentleman.  As  the  figure  came  near,  she 
slackened  her  pace,  and  struck  into  a  graceful 
chasse  forward,  at  the  same  time  motioning  me 
to  cross  the  rivulet,  which  I  no  sooner  did  than  I 
involuntarily  fell  to  dancing  with  incredible  agility. 
The  fair  stranger  was  by  this  time  close  to  me,  and 
we  were  setting  to  each  other,  as  partners  would  do 
in  a  cotillion,  when  she  presented  her  right  hand, 
and  turned  me,  as  she  welcomed  me  to  Fiddler's 
Green.  1  was  now  more  astonished  than  ever,  for 
although  when  T  took  the  lady's  hand,  I  grasped  no- 
thing but  air — "  thin  air,"  yet  she  spoke  and  acted 
with  precisely  the  grace,  manner,  and  tone  of  a 
modern  fair  belle.  She  was  exceedingly  happy  to 
see  me  at  the  Green — hoped  1  had  left  my  friends 
well — and  desired  to  know  how  I  had  been  for  the 
last  twenty  years — since  she  had  seen  me.  1 
assured  the  lady  that  she  had  the  advantage  of  me — 
that  1  was  really  so  unfortunate  as  not  to  recollect 
my  having  had  the  honour  of  her  acquaintance,  and 
that  1  was  totally  ignorant  of  any  thing  that  had  oc- 
curred twenty  years  ago,  as  that  was  before  my  time. 
She  told  me  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  con- 
ceal my  age,  which  was  well  known  at  the  Green, 


220  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

and  equally  unpolite  to  deny  my  old  acquaintance. 
Upon  her  mentioning  her  name,  1  recognised  her 
as  a  famous  belle,  who  had  died  of  a  consumption 
at  the  introduction  of  the  fashion  of  short  sleeves  and 
bare  elbows.  Having  thus  passed  the  compliments 
of  the  morning,  my  fair  companion  desired  to  con- 
duct me  to  the  principal  manager  of  the  Green,  by 
whom  my  right  of  admittance  must  be  decided,  and 
offering  both  of  her  hands,  whirled  away  in  a  waltz. 
We  soon  came  to  a  part  of  the  lawn  which  was 
crowded  with  company,  all  of  whom  were  dancing, 
and  I  was  about  to  advise  my  conductress  to  take  a 
circuitous  course,  to  avoid  the  throng,  when  she  di- 
rected me  to  cast  off,  and  right  and  left  through  it, 
a  manoeuvre  which  we  performed  with  admirable 
success.  On  our  arrival  at  the  bower  of  the  princi- 
pal manager,  the  sentinels  danced  three  times  for- 
ward and  back,  then  crossed  over,  and  admitted  us 
into  the  enclosure.  My  conductress  now  presented 
me  to  an  officer  of  the  court,  who,  after  cutting 
a  pigeon  wing  higher  than  my  head,  led  me  to  his 
superior.  The  manager  was  a  tall,  graceful  person, 
dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  black,  with  silk  stockings, 
shoes  and  buckles ;  an  elegant  dress  sword  glittered 
by  his  side,  but  he  wore  his  own  hair,  and  carried  a 
chapeau  de  bras  gracefully  under  his  arm.  He  is 
the  only  person  i«  these  regions  who  is  permitted  to 
exercise  his  own  taste  in  the  ornaments  of  his  person. 
He  was  beating  time  with  one  foot,  not  being  obli- 
ged, like  the  others,  to  dance  ;  I  was  informed,  how- 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  221 

ever,  that  he  sometimes  amused  himself  with  a 
minuet,  that  step  being  appropriated  solely  to  the 
managers,  as  the  pigeon  zuing  is  to  the  officers  of 
inferior  dignity.  On  such  occasions,  an  appropriate 
air  is  played,  and  the  whole  company  are  obliged  to 
dance  minuets,  to  the  great  perplexity  of  those 
ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have  not  studied  the 
graces  in  the  upper  world.  He  received  me  with  a 
polite  bow,  and  desired  me  to  amuse  myself  on  the 
Green  for  a  few  moments,  as  he  was  not  then  at 
leisure  to  attend  to  me;  by  which  I  perceived  that 
dancing  gentlemen  are  every  where  equally  fond  of 
putting  off  business. 

On  my  return  to  the  plain,  I  was  attracted  by 
the  delicious  appearance  of  the  fine  clusters  of  fruit 
that  hung  from  the  trees,  and  reached  my  hand  to 
pluck  a  peach — but  I  grasped  nothing !  My  fair 
companion  was  again  at  my  side,  and  condescended 
to  explain  the  mystery.  "  Every  thing  you  see 
here,"  said  she,  "  surprises  you.  You  have  yet  to 
learn  that  marriage  is  man's  chief  good,  and  they 
who  neglect  it  are  sent  here  to  be  punished.  In  the 
other  world  we  had  the  substantial  and  virtuous  en- 
joyments of  life  before  us,  but  we  disregarded  them, 
and  pursued  phantoms  of  our  own  creation.  One 
sought  wealth,  and  another  honour ;  but  the  greater 
number  luxuriated  in  idle  visions  of  fancy.  We 
were  never  happy  but  in  imagining  scenes  of  de- 
light too  perfect  for  mortals  to  enjoy.  The  heart 
and  mind  were  left  unoccupied,  while  we  were 
19* 


222 

taken  up  with  frivolities  which  pleased  the  eye  and 
ear.  In  the  affairs  of  love,  we  were  particularly 
remiss.  Its  fruits  and  flowers  hung  within  our 
reach,  but  we  refused  to  pluck  them.  Ladies  have 
danced  off  their  most  tender  lovers,  and  many  a 
gentleman  has  gambled  away  his  mistress.  The 
flurry  of  dissipation  and  the  soft  emotions  of  affec- 
tion will  not  inhabit  the  same  breast.  We  were  to 
choose  between  them,  and  we  chose  amiss — and 
now  behold  the  consequence !  We  are  here  surround- 
ed by  fruits  and  flowers  that  we  cannot  touch — we 
have  listened  to  the  same  melody  until  it  has  be- 
come tedious — we  are  confined  to  partners  not  of 
our  o\vn  choice — and  the  amusement  which  was 
once  our  greatest  delight  is  now  a  toil.  When  alive, 
our  fancies  were  busy  in  creating  Elysian  fields — 
here  we  have  an  Elysium, — and  we  lead  that  life 
which  maids  and  bachelors  delight  in — a  life  of  fid- 
dling, dancing,  coquetry,  and  squabbling.  We  now 
learn  that  they  only  are  happy  who  are  usefully 
and  virtuously  employed."  This  account  of  the 
place  which  1  was  probably  destined  to  inhabit, 
was  rather  discouraging;  but  my  attention  was 
soon  drawn  by  fresh  novelties.  I  was  particularly 
amused  with  the  grotesque  appearance  of  the  vari- 
ous groups  around  me.  As  the  persons  who  com- 
posed them  were  from  every  age  and  nation,  their 
costumes  exhibited  every  variety  of  fashion.  The 
Grecian  robe,  and  the  Roman  toga,  the  monkish 
cowl,  and  the  monastic  veil,  and  the  blanket  and 


223 

feathers  of  the  Indian,  were  mingled  in  ludicrous 
contrast.  Nor  was  the  allotment  of  partners  less 
diverting.  A  gentleman  in  an  embroidered  suit  led 
off  a  beggar  girl,  while  a  broad-shoulderd  mynheer 
flirted  with  an  Italian  countess.  But  1  was  most 
amused  at  seeing  Queen  Elizabeth  dancing  a  jig 
with  a  jolly  cobbler,  a  person  of  great  bonhommie^ 
but  who  failed  not  to  apply  the  strap  when  his  state- 
ly partner  moved  with  less  agility  than  comported 
with  his  notions.  When  she  complained  of  his 
cruelty,  he  reminded  the  hard-hearted  Queen  of  her 
cousin  Mary,  and  Lord  Essex.  Several  of  her 
maids  of  honour  were  dancing  near  her  with  catho- 
lic priests,  and  1  could  perceive  that  the  latter  took 
great  delight  in  jostling  the  royal  lady,  whenever  an 
opportunity  offered.  My  attention  was  withdrawn 
from  the  dancers  by  the  approach  of  a  newly  de- 
ceased bachelor,  whose  appearance  excited  univer- 
sal attention.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt,  hard  featured 
personage,  whose  beard  had  evidently  not  known 
the  discipline  of  a  razor  for  a  month  before  his  de- 
cease. His  feet  were  cased  in  moccasins,  and  his 
limbs  in  rude  vestments  of  buckskin ;  a  powder- 
horn  and  pouch  were  suspended  from  his  shoulders, 
and  a  huge  knife  rested  in  his  girdle.  1  knew  him 
at  once  to  be  a  hunter  who  had  been  chasing  deer  in 
the  woods,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  pursuing 
dears  of  another  description.  I  determined  to  have 
a  little  chat  with  him  ;  and  approaching,  asked  him 
how  he  liked  Fiddler's  Green.  "I  don't  know, 


224  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

stranger,"  said  he,  scratching  his  head.  "  I  'm  ra- 
ther jubus  that  1  have  got  into  a  sort  of  a  priminary 
here."  I  expressed  my  surprise  at  his  not  admiring 
a  place  where  they  were  so  many  fine  ladies. 
"  Why  as  to  the  matter  of  that,"  said  he,  "  there's  a 
wonderful  smart  chance  of  women  here — that  are  a 
fact — and  female  society  are  elegant — for  them  that 
likes  it — but,  for  my  part,  I'd  a  heap  rather  camp 
out  by  the  side  of  a  cane-brake,  where  there  was  a 
good  chance  of  bears  and  turkeys."  "  But  you  for- 
get," said  I,  "  that  you  have  left  your  flesh  and  blood 
behind  you."  "That  are  a  fact,"  said  he,  "  I  feel 
powerful  weak — but  I  dont  like  the  Jixens  here, 
no  how — I'm  a  Abominable  bad  hand  among  women 
— so  I'd  thank  'em  not  to  be  cutting  their  shines 
about  me."  "  But,  my  friend,  you  will  have  to  turn 
in  directly,  and  dance  with  some  of  them.  <c  I  rec- 
kon not,"  said  he, — "  if  I  do,  I'll  agree  to  give  up 
my  judgment, — but  if  any  of  'em  have  a  mind  to 
run  or  jump  for  a  half  pint,  I'd  as  leave  go  it  as  not." 
This  gentleman  was  followed  by  another,  who  came 
in  a  still  more  "questionable  shape."  The  polite 
ghosts  could  not  suppress  a  smile,  at  the  sight  of 
this  moiety  of  a  man,  while  the  ill-bred  burst  into 
peals  of  obstreperous  laughter.  I  easily  recognised 
him  to  be  a  Dandy  ;  and  as  he,  with  several  other 
newly  arrived  spirits,  were  hastening  to  the  mana- 
ger's court,  1  repaired  thither  also,  in  hopes  of  ob- 
taining an  audience. 

As  we  passed  along,  my  conductress  pointed  out 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  225 

to  me  a  most  commodious  arm  charm,  in  the  shade 
of  a  delightful  bower,  near  which  was  suspended  a 
richly  ornamented  tobacco  pipe — while  a  huge  tab- 
by-eat sat  purring  on  the  cushion.  It  had  an  inviting 
air  of  comfortable  indolence.  On  my  enquiring 
whose  limbs  were  destined  to  repose  in  this  conve- 
nient receptacle,  my  companion  replied  : — "  It  is 
called  the  Chair  of  Celibacy, — the  happy  maid  or 
bachelor,  whose  singleness  shall  not  be  imputed  to 
any  blameable  cause;  who  spends  a  good  humoured 
life,  and  dies  at  a  respectable  age,  in  charity  with 
all  the  world,  shall  be  seated  in  that  commodious 
chair,  enjoy  the  company  of  this  social  quadruped, 
and,  while  pleasantly  puffing  away  the  placid  hours, 
may  indulge  in  any  remarks  whatever  upon  the  sur- 
rounding company,  and  thus  enjoy  all  the  luxuries 
of  unmarried  life.  Its  cushion,  however,  has  not 
as  yet  found  an  occupant."  "  But  this,"  said  I, 
"  can  be  the  reward  of  only  one  meritorious  indivi- 
dual— what  is  to  become  of  the  remainder  of  those 
who  shall  not  be  sentenced  to  dance  ?"  "  I  cannot 
answer  your  question,"  said  she,  "for  as  yet  no  one 
has  appeared  who  could  claim  an  exemption  from 
the  common  fate.  I  suppose,  however,  that  if  this 
chair  should  ever  be  filled,  others  will  be  provided, 
should  any  future  members  of  the  fraternity  estab- 
lish their  claims  to  the  same  felicity." 

We  soon  arrived  at  the  dread  tribunal,  which  was 
to  decide  our  future  destiny ;  but  before  the  anti- 
cipated investigation  commenced,  the  court  was 


226  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

thrown  into  confusion  by  an  altercation  between 
the  Dandy  and  my  friend  from  the  back  woods. 
The  former,  it  seems,  had  indulged  himself  in  some 
imprudent  jests  upon  the  dress  of  the  latter,  which 
so  irritated  the  gentleman  in  buckskin,  that  he 
threatened  to  flirt  him  sky-high."  TheDandyupon 
this  swelled  very  large,  and  assuming  an  air  of  vast 
importance,  declared,  that  "ifagenJ/e/wmhad  used 
such  language  to  him,  he  would  know  what  to  do." 
"  I  tell  you  what,  stranger,"  said  the  woodsman, 
"  you  mus'nt  imitate  any  thing  of  that  sort  to  me, — I 
don't  want  to  strike  such  a  mean  white  man  as  you, 
but  if  you  come  over  them  words  agin,  drot  my  skin 
if  I  don't  try  you  a  cool  dig  or  two,  any  how.  An 
officer  here  interposed,  and  with  some  difficulty  re- 
stored peace,  as  the  bachelor  in  buckskin  continued 
to  assert,  that  the  other  had  hopped  on  him  without 
provocation,  and  that  he  wouldn't  knock  under  to 
no  man.  He  was  at  length  in  some  degree  pacified, 
and  strolled  off  muttering  that  he  wasn't  going  for 
to  trouble  nobody — but  that  they  musn't  go  fooling 
about  him.  I  joined  the  rough  son  of  the  forest  as 
he  retired,  and  endeavoured  to  appease  him  by  ex- 
pressing a  hope  that  upon  a  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  this  place  and  its  inhabitants,  he  would 
find  them  more  agreeable,  than  he  seemed  to  anti- 
cipate from  his  late  experience.  "  Well,  stranger," 
said  he,  "  I  want  to  be  agreeable  with  every  one — 
but  to  speak  my  mind  sentimentally,  on  the  occasion 
of  this  ruckery  that's  been  kicked  up,  I  do  verbatimly 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  227 

think  that  there  little  man  is  not  in  his  right  head, 
and  for  that  reason,  1  dont  Dally  what  he  says,  no 
how — and  most  of  the  folks  here  seems  to  be  sort  o' 
crazy — but  I  dont  like  to  be  bantered,  no  how — and 
if  there's  any  man,  that's  rightly  at  himself,  that  has 
any  thing  agin  me,  let  him  step  out,  and  I'll  give 
him  a  fair  fight — I'm  always  ready  to  offishuate  in 
that  point  of  mew  /"  I  replied,  that  I  hoped  there 
would  be  no  occasion  for  a  further  display  of  his 
prowess,  and  repeated  my  conviction,  that  all  would 
go  well  with  him.  "  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "we'll 
see — but  somehow  I  dont  like  the  signs — I  dont  feel 
like  1  was  at  home  here — I  feel  sort  o'  queer,  like  I 
was  out  of  my  range, — but  when  I  get  right  well 
haunted  to  the  place,  maybe  I'll  like  it  better." 

The  manager  had  now  ascended  the  justice-seat, 
and  was  prepared  to  examine  the  newly  arrived 
spirits.  The  first  who  presented  herself,  was  an 
unseemly  maiden  of  forty,  who  stated  her  case  with 
great  fluency.  She  assured  the  court,  that  it  was 
not  her  own  fault  that  she  was  here,  as  she  had  al- 
ways conducted  herself  with  great  decorum,  and  . 
had  never  evinced  any  dislike  to  matrimony.  In- 
deed she  had  once  been  duly  engaged  to  marry — 
but  her  lover  coming  in  unexpectedly  upon  her  one 
day,  when  she  was  only  just  spanking  her  youngest 
sister  a  little,  for  breaking  a  bottle  of  perfume — "  and 
do  you  think,"  continued  she, "  the  ungrateful  wretch 
didn't  march  off,  swearing  he  had  caught  a  tartar — 
and  from  that  blessed  day  to  this,  I  never  set  eyes 


228  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

on  him,  so" — "You  may  stand  aside,"  said  the 
manager,  "  until  we  can  find  a  suitable  partner  for 
you." 

The  next  lady  was  rather  younger,  and  more 
comely.  She  declared,  modestly  enough,  that  she 
had  never  been  particularly  anxious  to  marry,  al- 
though she  had  never  evinced  any  particular  reluct- 
ance. She  had  remained  unnoticed  and  unwooed 
until  the  age  of  twenty-four,  "  wasting  her  fragrance 
on  the  desert  air,"  when  she  captivated  the  affec- 
tions of  a  very  amiable  young  man.  His  affairs 
calling  him  abroad,  they  separated  under  a  solemn 
pledge  that  their  union  should  be  solemnised  on 
his  return.  His  absence  was  protracted  to  above 
a  year,  and  in  the  mean  while  another  lover  ap- 
peared. She  remained  constant  until  the  approach 
of  her  twenty-fifth  birth-day,  on  the  night  of  which 
it  was  customary,  as  she  understood,  for  the  old 
boy,  to  make  his  appearance  to  unmarried  ladies. 
The  dreaded  night  arrived,  and  the  maid  was  un- 
wed— "and  1  was  lying  in  bed  wide  awake,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  and  the  room  was  as  dark  as  pitch, 
when  the  old  boy  appeared,  sure  enough,  and  walk- 
ing on  tip-toe  to  my  bed-side  (I  could  hear  him,  but 
could  not  see  him)  he  whispered  in  my  ear 

"  Take  the  man, 
While  you  can, 
Silly  old  maid !" 

After  this  awful  warning  my  mind  was  so  troubled, 
that  I  determined  to  find  relief  by  obeying  the  noc- 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  229 

turnal  mandate,  and  accordingly  I  agreed  to  marry 
rny  new  lover.  But  on  the  very  day  fixed  for  the 
ceremony,  my  first  beau  returned,  and  heard  the 
news  ;  the  gentlemen  quarrelled,  and  then — made 
up, — and  I  lost  them  both,  which  1  am  sure  was 
not  my  fault,  for  with  the  greatest  sincerity  I  could 
have  sung — c  How  happy  could  I  be  with  either :' 
— but  you  know,  sir,  1  could  not  oblige  them  both." 

The  dandy  now  made  his  appearance,  and  was 
about  to  commence  his  story  with  a  bow  as  low  as 
his  corsets  would  permit,  when  the  manager  sup- 
pressing a  smile,  said,  "  Be  pleased,  sir,  to  pair  off 
with  the  obliging  lady  who  stands  at  the  bar, — your 
appearance  precludes  the  necessity  of  a  hearing." 

A  languishing  beauty  now  approached,  and  gently 
raising  her  downcast  eyes,  ogled  the  judge  with  a 
most  bewitchingly  pensive  smile,  which  seemed  to 
say,  "  Oh  !  take  me  to  your  arms,  my  love."  '«  My 
history,"  said  she,  "  is  short  and  melancholy.  My 
heart,  was  formed  for  the  soft  impulses  of  affection, 
and  was  rendered  still  more  sensitive  by  a  diligent 
perusal  of  the  most  exquisite  fictions  in  our  lan- 
guage ;  1  devoured  those'productions,  which  describe 
amiable  and  unfortunate  susceptibilities  of  my  sex, 
and  endeavoured  to  regulate  my  conduct  by  the 
most  approved  rules  of  romance.  I  doted  on  man- 
ly beauty ;  and  knowing  that  gentlemen  admire  the 
softer  virtues,  1  endeavoured,  while  in  their  pre- 
sence, to  be  all  that  was  soft  and  sweet.  I  selected 
several  handsome  men,  on  whom  1  conferred  my  par- 
20 


230  THE  BACHELORS1  ELYSIUM. 

ticular  regard  and  friendship,  in  the  hope  that  out 
of  many  I  could  fix  one.  To  each  of  these  1  gave 
my  entire  confidence,  consulted  as  to  my  studies, 
and  entrusted  him  with  the  feelings  and  the  sorrows 
of  a  too  susceptible  heart — leaving  each  to  believe 
that  he  was  the  only  individual  who  enjoyed  this 
distinguished  honour.  To  all  other  gentlemen,  and 
to  my  own  sex,  I  evinced  a  polite  indifference.  My 
friends  treated  me  with  great  kindness,  but,  alas  ! 
what  is  mere  kindness  !  Some  of  them  pressed  my 
hand,  and  said  a  great  many  soft  things  without  com- 
ing to  the  point,  and  some  would  even  snatch  a  kiss, 
for  which,  not  being  followed  by  a  declaration  of 
love,  I  thought  1  ought  to  have  dismissed  them,  but  I 
had  not  sufficient  resolution.  And  thus,  with  a  heart 
feelingly  alive  to  the  delights  of  connubial  affection, 
and  after  a  miserable  life,  devoted  to  its  pursuits,  I 
died  without  enjoying  its  blisses." 

"  A  little  less  solicitude  to  attain  the  object,  might 
perhaps  have  been  attended  with  more  success," 
said  the  manager.  "We  will  endeavour  to  provide 
you  with  a  friend  of  whose  constancy  you  shall  have 
no  reason  to  complain.  For  the  present  be  pleased 
to  stand  aside." 

This  lady  was  succeeded  by  my  acquaintance 
in  buckskin,  who  declared  that  he  never  had  any  use 
for  a  wife,  no  how — but  that  once  in  his  life  he  feltsorf 
o' lonesome,  and  it  seemed  like  he  ought  to  get  married. 
"  1  don't  think,"  said  he,  "  that  it  would  make  me 
any  happier,  but  though  somehow,  I'd  feel  better 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  231 

contented,  so  I  went  to  see  a  young  woman  in  the 
neighbourhood — she  was  a  right  likely  gal  too,  and 
her  father  was  well  off — but  somehow  I  didn't  like 
the  signs,  and  so  I  quit  the  track — and  that's  all  the 
courten  that  ever  I  did,  to  my  knowledge." 

"There  is  a  lady  in  waiting,"  said  the  manager, 
"  who  has  been  as  unsuccessful  as  yourself — per- 
haps you  may  like  the  signs  better  in  that  quarter." 
"  1  reckon  its  as  good  luck  as  any,"  rejoined  the 
gentleman,  "  I  wouldn't  give  a  ''coon-skin*  to  boot 
between  her  and  any  of  the  rest ;"  and  seizing  the 
hands  of  the  pensive  beauty,  he  whirled  her  off 
with  a  swing,  which  kept  her  dancing  in  the  air 
until  they  were  out  of  sight. 

Many  other  persons  of  both  sexes  were  examined; 
but  their  loves  were  common  place,  and  their  pleas 
frivolous  or  unfounded.  Pride  and  avarice  ap- 
peared to  be  the  greatest  foes  to  matrimony.  It 
would  be  tedious  to  detail  the  numberless  instances, 
in  which  young  persons,  otherwise  estimable,  had, 
in  obedience  to  these  unruly  passions,  done  vio- 
lence to  the  best  affections  of  their  hearts.  The  fear 
of  marrying  beneath  themselves,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  ambition  to  acquire  wealth  on  the  other, 
constituted  prolific  sources  of  celibacy. 

Parental  authority  was  frequently  alleged  by  the 
ladies  to  have  been  exerted  in  opposition  to  their 
matrimonial  views — but  it  appeared  to  have  been 

*  Raccoon. 


232  THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM. 

used  successfully  only  where  the  lover  was  poor, 
and  where  the  lady's  passion  was  not  sufficiently 
strong  to  contend  against  the  parent's  prudence. 

Many  suitable  matches  had  been  broken  off  by 
maneuvering.  This  seemed  to  be  equally  effectual, 
whether  used  in  friendship  or  in  hostility.  We 
heard  of  many  old  ladies,  who  having  sons  or  daugh- 
ters, or  nephews,  or  nieces,  to  provide  for,  resolute- 
ly set  their  faces  against  all  matrimonial  alliances 
whatever,  by  which  a  fortune  or  a  beauty  could  be 
taken  out  of  the  market ;  and  many  others  who, 
without  such  interest,  opposed  all  matches  which 
were  not  made  by  themselves. 

I  observed,  moreover,  that  every  gentleman 
averred  that  he  could  have  married,  if  he  had  been 
so  disposed  ;  and  that  not  a  single  lady  alleged  that 
she  had  been  prevented  by  the  want  of  offers. 

The  last  lady  who  was  put  to  the  ordeal,  was  the 
daughter  of  a  rich  confectioner,  who  fancied  her- 
self a  fine  lady,  because  she  had  fed  upon  jellies  and 
conserves.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  sweetmeats  and 
sugarplums,  which  she  had  swallowed,  in  the  course 
of  her  life,  had  turned  to  vinegar,  and  converted 
her  into  a  mass  of  acidity.  She  forgot  that  sweet 
things — such  as  girls  and  plum  cakes — grow  stale 
by  keeping ;  and  turned  up  her  nose  at  lovers  of 
all  sorts  and  sizes,  until  she  became  unsaleable. 
On  hearing  her  doom,  she  cast  a  glance  of  indigna- 
tion at  the  judge,  and  throwing  her  eyes  superci- 


THE  BACHELORS'  ELYSIUM.  233 

liously  over  the  assembly,  fixed  them  on  me,  and 
darting  towards  me,  with  the  rapidity  of  a  tigress, 
seemed  determined  to  make  me  her  partner  or  her 
prey.  Alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  a  fate,  which 
appeared  more  terrible  than  any  thing  I  had  ever 
fancied,  I  sprang  aside,  and  rushing  towards  the 
judge,  was  about  to  claim  his  protection,  when  I 
awoke. 


20* 


234 


PETE   FEATHERTON 


Every  country  has  its  superstitions,  and  will 
continue  to  have  them,  so  long  as  men  are  blessed 
with  lively  imaginations,  and  while  any  portion  of 
mankind  remain  ignorant  of  the  causes  of  natural 
phenomena.  That  which  cannot  be  reconciled 
with  experience,  will  always  be  attributed  to  su- 
pernatural influence ;  and  those  who  know  little, 
will  imagine  much  more  to  exist  than  has  ever 
been  witnessed  by  their  own  senses.  I  am  not  dis- 
pleased with  this  state  of  things,  for  the  journey  of 
life  would  be  dull  indeed,  if  those  who  travel  it 
were  confined  for  ever  to  the  beaten  highway, 
worn  smooth  by  the  sober  feet  of  experience.  To 
turnpikes,  for  our  beasts  of  burden,  I  have  no  ob- 
jection ;  but  1  cannot  consent  to  the  erection  of 
railways  for  the  mind,  even  though  the  architect 
be  "  wisdom,  whose  ways  are  pleasant,  and  whose 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  235 

paths  are  peace."  It  is  sometimes  agreeable  to 
stray  off  into  the  wilderness  which  fancy  creates, 
to  recline  in  fairy  bowers,  and  to  listen  to  the  mur- 
murs of  imaginary  fountains.  When  the  beaten 
road  becomes  tiresome,  there  are  many  sunny 
spots  where  the  pilgrim  may  loiter  with  advantage 
— many  shady  paths,  whose  labyrinths  may  be 
traced  with  delight.  The  mountain,  and  the  vale, 
on  whose  scenery  we  gaze  enchanted,  derive  new 
charms,  when  their  deep  caverns  and  gloomy  re- 
cesses are  peopled  with  imaginary  beings. 

But  above  all,  the  enlivening  influence  of  fancy 
is  felt,  when  it  illumines  our  firesides,  giving  to  the 
wings  of  time,  when  they  grow  heavy,  a  brighter 
plumage,  and  a  more  sprightly  motion.  There  are 
seasons,  when  the  spark  of  life  within  us  seems  to 
burn  with  less  than  its  wonted  vigour;  the  blood 
crawls  heavily  through  the  veins ;  the  contagious 
dullness  seizes  on  our  companions,  and  the  sluggish 
hours  roll  painfully  along.  Something  more  than  a 
common  impulse  is  then  required  to  awaken  the 
indolent  mind,  and  give  a  new  tone  to  the  flagging 
spirits.  If  necromancy  draws  her  magic  circle,  we 
cheerfully  enter  the  ring ;  if  folly  shakes  her  cap 
and  bells,  we  are  amused ;  a  witch  becomes  an  in- 
teresting personage,  and  we  are  even  agreeably 
surprised  by  the  companionable  qualities  of  a 
ghost. 

We,  who  live  on  the  frontier,  have  little  ac- 
quaintance with  imaginary  beings.  These  gentry 


236  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

never  emigrate ;  they  seem  to  have  strong  local  at- 
tachments, which  not  even  the  charms  of  a  new 
country  can  overcome.  A  few  witches,  indeed, 
were  imported  into  New  England  by  the  fathers ; 
but  were  so  badly  used,  that  the  whole  race  seems 
to  have  been  disgusted  with  new  settlements. 
With  them,  the  spirit  of  adventure  expired,  and  the 
weird  women  of  the  present  day  wisely  cling  to 
the  soil  of  the  old  countries.  That  we  have  but 
few  ghosts  will  not  be  deemed  a  matter  of  surprise 
by  those  who  have  observed  how  miserably  desti- 
tute we  are  of  accommodations  for  such  inhabit- 
ants. We  have  no  baronial  castles,  nor  ruined 
mansions ; — no  turrets  crowned  with  ivy,  nor  an- 
cient abbeys  crumbling  into  decay;  and  it  would  be 
a  paltry  spirit,  who  would  be  content  to  wander  in 
the  forest,  by  silent  rivers  and  solitary  swamps. 

It  is  even  imputed  to  us  as  a  reproach  by  en- 
lightened foreigners,  that  our  land  is  altogether  po- 
pulated with  the  living  descendants  of  Adam — 
creatures  with  thews  and  sinews,  who  eat  when 
they  are  hungry,  laugh  when  they  are  tickled,  and 
die  when  they  are  done  living.  The  creatures  of 
romance,  say  they,  exist  not  in  our  territory.  A 
witch,  a  ghost,  or  a  brownie,  perishes  in  America, 
as  a  serpent  is  said  to  die  the  instant  it  touches  the 
uncongenial  soil  of  Ireland.  This  is  true,  only  in 
part.  If  we  have  no  ghosts,  we  are  not  without 
miracles.  Wonders  have  happened  in  these 
United  States.  Mysteries  have  occurred  in  the 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  237 

valley  of  the  Mississippi.  Supernatural  events 
have  transpired  on  the  borders  of  "  the  beautiful 
stream  ;"  and  in  order  to  rescue  my  country  from 
undeserved  reproach,  1  shall  proceed  to  narrate  an 
authentic  history,  which  I  received  from  the  lips  of 
the  party  principally  concerned. 

A  clear  morning  had  succeeded  a  stormy  night 
in  December ;  the  snow  laid  ankle-deep  upon  the 
ground,  and  glittered  on  the  boughs,  while  the 
bracing  air,  and  the  cheerful  sunbeams,  invigorated 
the  animal  creation,  and  called  forth  the  tenants  of 
the  forest  from  their  warm  lairs  and  hidden  lurking 
places. 

The  inmates  of  a  small  cabin  on  the  margin  of 
the  Ohio,  were  commencing  with  the  sun  the  busi- 
ness of  the  day.  A  stout,  raw-boned  forester  plied 
his  keen  axe,  and,  lugging  log  after  log,  erected  a 
pile  in  the  ample  hearth,  sufficiently  large  to  have 
rendered  the  last  honours  to  the  statelies^ox.  A 
female  was  paying  her  morning  visit  to  the  cow- 
yard,  where  a  numerous  herd  of  cattle  claimed  her 
attention.  The  plentiful  breakfast  followed  ;  corn- 
bread,  milk,  and  venison,  crowned  the  oaken 
board,  while  a  tin  coffee-pot  of  ample  dimensions 
supplied  the  beverage  which  is  seldom  wanting  at 
the  morning  repast  of  the  substantial  American 
peasant. 

The  breakfast  over,  Mr.  Featherton  reached  down 
a  long  rifle  from  the  rafters,  and  commenced  certain 
preparations,  fraught  with  danger  to  the  brute  in- 


238  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

habitants  of  the  forest.  The  lock  was  carefully 
examined,  the  screws  tightened,  the  pan  wiped,  the 
flint  renewed,  and  the  springs  oiled  ;  and  the  keen 
eye  of  the  backwoodsman  glittered  with  an  omi- 
nous lustre,  as  its  glance  rested  on  the  destructive 
engine.  His  blue-eyed  partner,  leaning  fondly  on 
her  husband's  shoulder,  essayed  those  coaxing  and 
captivating  blandishments,  which  every  young  wife 
so  well  understands,  to  detain  her  husband  from 
the  contemplated  sport.  Every  pretext  which  her 
ingenuity  supplied,  was  urged  with  affectionate 
pertinacity ; — the  wind  whistled  bleakly  over  the 
hills,  the  snow  lay  deep  in  the  valleys,  the  deer 
would  surely  not  venture  abroad  in  such  bitter 
cold  weather,  his  toes  might  be  frost-bitten,  and 
her  own  hours  would  be  sadly  lonesome  in  his  ab- 
sence. The  young  hunter  smiled  in  silence  at  the 
arguments  of  his  bride,  for  such  she  was,  and  con- 
tinued kjs  preparations. 

He  was  indeed  a  person  with  whom  such  argu- 
ments, except  the  last,  would  not  be  very  likely  to 
prevail.  Pete  Featherton,  as  he  was  familiarly 
called  by  his  acquaintances,  was  a  bold  rattling 
Kentuckian,  of  twenty-five,  who  possessed  the  cha- 
racteristic peculiarities  of  his  countrymen — good 
and  evil — in  a  striking  degree.  His  red  hair  and 
sanguine  complexion  announced  an  ardent  tempe- 
rament ;  his  tall  form,  and  bony  limbs,  indicated  an 
active  frame  inured  to  hardships  ;  his  piercing  eye 
and  tall  cheek-bones,  evinced  the  keenness  and  re- 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  239 

solution  of  his  mind.  He  was  adventurous,  frank, 
and  social — boastful,  credulous,  illiterate,  and  at 
times,  wonderfully  addicted  to  the  marvellous. 
He  loved  his  wife,  was  true  to  his  friends,  never 
allowed  a  bottle  to  pass  untasted,  nor  turned  his 
back  upon  a  frolic. 

He  believed  that  the  best  qualities  of  all  coun- 
tries were  centered  in  Kentucky;  but  had  a  whim- 
sical manner  of  expressing  his  national  attachment. 
He  was  firmly  convinced  that  the  battle  of  the 
Thames  was  the  most  sanguinary  conflict  of  the 

age,  and  extolled  Colonel  J n  as  "a  severe 

colt."  He  would  admit  that  Napoleon  was  a 
great  genius  ;  but  insisted  that  he  was  "  no  part  of 
a  priming"  to  Henry  Clay.  When  entirely  "  at 
himself," — to  use  his  own  language, — that  is  to 
say,  when  duly  sober,  Pete  was  friendly  and  ra- 
tional, and  a  better  tempered  soul  never  shoulder- 
ed a  rifle.  But  let  him  get  a  dram  too  much,  and 
there  was  no  end  to  his  extravagance.  It  was  then 
that  he  would  slap  his  hands  together,  spring  per- 
pendicularly into  the  air  with  the  activity  of  a 
rope  dancer,  and  after  uttering  a  yell,  which  the 
most  accomplished  Winnebago  might  be  proud  to 
own,  swear  that  he  was  the  "  best  man  in  the  coun- 
try, and  could  whip  his  weight  in  wild  cats!" 
and  after  many  other  extravagances,  conclude  that 
he  could  "  ride  through  a  crab-apple  orchard 
on  a  streak  of  lightning." 

In  addition  to  this,  which  one  would  think  was 


240  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

enough  for  any  reasonable  man,  Pete  would  brag, 
that  he  had  the  best  rifle,  the  prettiest  wife'',  and 
the  fastest  nag  in  all  Kentuck ;  and  that  no  man 
dare  say  to  the  contrary.  It  is  but  justice  to  re- 
mark, that  there  was  more  truth  in  this  last  boast 
than  is  usually  found  on  such  occasions,  and  that 
Pete  had  no  small  reason  to  be  proud  of  his  horse, 
his  gun,  and  his  rosy-cheeked  companion. 

These,  however,  were  the  happy  moments 
which  are  few  and  far  between;  for  every  poet  will 
bear  us  witness  from  his  own  experience,  that  the 
human  intellect  is  seldom  indulged  with  those  bril- 
liant inspirations,  which  gleam  over  the  turbid 
stream  of  existence,  as  the  meteor  flashes  through 
the  gloom  of  the  night.  When  the  fit  was  off, 
Pete  was  as  listless  a  soul  as  one  would  see  of  a 
summer's  day — strolling  about  with  a  grave  aspect, 
a  drawling  speech,  and  a  deliberate  gait,  a  stoop  of 
the  shoulders,  and  a  kind  of  general  relaxation  of 
the  whole  inward  and  outward  man — in  a  state  of 
entire  freedom  from  restraint,  reflection,  and  want, 
and  without  any  impulse  strong  enough  to  call 
forth  his  manhood — as  the  panther,  with  whom  he 
so  often  compared  himself,  when  his  appetite  for 
food  is  sated,  sleeps  calmly  in  his  lair,  or  wanders 
harmlessly  through  his  native  thickets. 

It  will  be  readily  perceived,  that  our  hunter  was 
not  one  who  could  be  turned  from  his  purpose  by 
the  prospect  of  danger  or  fatigue ;  and  a  few  mi- 
nutes sufficed  to  complete  his  preparations.  His 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  341 

feet  were  cased  in  moccasins  and  wrappers  of  buck- 
skin :  and  he  was  soon  accoutred  with  his  quaintly 
carved  powder  horn,  pouch,  flints,  patches,  balls 
and  long  knife  ; — and  throwing  "  Brown  Bess," — 
for  so  he  called  his  rifle — over  his  shoulder,  he 
sallied  forth. 

But  in  passing  a  store  hard  by,  which  supplied 
the  country  with  gunpowder,  whiskey  and  other 
necessaries,  he  was  hailed  by  some  of  his  neigh- 
bours, one  of  whom  challenged  him  to  swap  rifles. 
Pete  was  one  of  those,  who  would  not  receive  a 
challenge  without  throwing  it  back.  Without  the 
least  intention,  therefore,  of  parting  with  his  fa- 
vourite rifle,  he  continued  to  banter  back — mak- 
ing offers  like  a  skilful  diplomatist,  which  he  knew 
would  not  be  accepted,  and  feigning  great  eagerness 
to  accede  to  any  reasonable  proposition,  while  in- 
wardly resolved  to  reject  all,  he  magnified  the 
perfections  of  Brown  Bess. 

"  She  can  do  any  thing  but  talk,"  said  he—"  If 
she  had  legs,  she  could  hunt  by  herself.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  tote  her — and  I  na-ter-ally  believe,  there 
is  not  a  rifle  south  of  Green  river,  that  can  throw  a 
a  ball  so  far,  or  so  true." 

These  discussions  consumed  much  time,  and 
much  whiskey — for  the  rule  on  such  occasions  is, 
that  he  who  rejects  an  offer  to  trade,  must  treat  the 
company,  and  thus  every  point  in  the  negotiation 
costs  a  pint  of  spirits. 

At  length,  bidding  adieu  to  his  companions,  Pete 
21 


242  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

struck  into  the  forest.  Lightly  crushing  the  snow 
beneath  his  active  feet,  he  beat  up  the  coverts,  and 
traversed  all  the  accustomed  haunts  of  the  deer. 
He  mounted  every  hill  and  descended  into  every 
valley — not  a  thicket  escaping  the  penetrating 
glance  of  his  practised  eye.  Fruitless  labour  !  Not 
a  deer  was  to  be  seen.  Pete  marvelled  at  this  un- 
usual circumstance,  and  was  the  more  surprised 
when  he  began  to  find,  that  the  woods  were  less 
familiar  to  him  than  formerly.  He  thought  he  knew 
every  tree  within  ten  miles  of  his  cabin  ;  but,  now, 
although  he  certainly  had  not  wandered  so  far, 
some  of  the  objects  around  him  seemed  strange, 
while  others  again  were  easily  recognised  ;  and 
there  was,  altogether,  a  singular  confusion  of  cha- 
racter in  the  scenery,  which  was  partly  familiar,  and 
partly  new ;  or  rather,  in  which  the  component 
parts  were  separately  well  known,  but  were  so 
mixed  up,  and  changed  in  relation  to  each  other,  as 
to  baffle  even  the  knowledge  of  an  expert  woods- 
man. The  more  he  looked,  the  more  he  was 
bewildered.  He  came  to  a  stream  which  had  hereto- 
fore rolled  to  the  west;  but  now  its  course  pointed 
to  the  east;  and  the  shadows  of  the  tall  trees, 
which,  according  to  Pete's  philosophy,  ought,  at 
noon,  to  fall  to  the  north,  all  pointed  to  the  south. 
He  cast  his  eye  upon  his  own  shadow,  which  had 
never  deceived  him — when,  lo !  a  still  more  extra- 
ordinary phenomenon  presented  itself.  It  was 
travelling  round  him  like  the  shade  on  a  dial, — only 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  243 

a  thousand  times  faster,  as  it  veered  round  the 
whole  compass  in  the  course  of  a  single  minute. 

It  was  very  evident,  too,  from  the  dryness  of  the 
snow,  and  the  brittleness  of  the  twigs,  which  snap- 
ped off  as  he  brushed  his  way  through  the  thickets, 
that  the  weather  was  intensely  cold ;  and  yet  the 
perspiration  was  rolling  in  large  drops  from  his 
brow.  He  stopped  at  a  clear  spring,  and  thrusting 
his  hands  into  the  cold  water,  attempted  to  carry  a 
portion  of  it  to  his  lips  ;  but  the  element  recoiled 
and  hissed,  as  if  his  hands  and  lips  had  been  com- 
posed of  red  hot  iron.  Pete  felt  quite  puzzled 
when  he  reflected  on  all  these  contradictions  in 
the  aspect  of  nature ;  and  he  began  to  consider 
what  act  of  wickedness  he  had  been  guilty  of,  which 
could  have  rendered  him  so  hateful,  that  the  deer 
fled,  the  streams  turned  back,  and  the  shadows 
danced  round  their  centre  at  his  approach. 

He  began  to  grow  alarmed,  and  would  have 
turned  back,  but  was  ashamed  to  betray  such  weak- 
ness, even  to  himself;  and  being  naturally  bold,  he 
resolutely  kept  his  way.  At  last,  to  his  great  joy, 
he  espied  the  tracks  of  deer  imprinted  in  the  snow 
— and,  dashing  into  the  trail,  with  the  alacrity  of  a 
well  trained  hound,  he  pursued  in  hopes  of  over- 
taking the  game.  Presently,  he  discovered  the  tracks 
of  a  man,  who  had  struck  the  same  trail  in  advance 
of  him,  and  supposing  it  to  be  one  of  his  neighbours, 
he  quickened  his  pace,  as  well  to  gain  a  companion 
in  sport,  as  to  share  the  spoil  of  his  fellow  hunter. 


244  PETE  TEATHERTON. 

Indeed,  in  his  present  situation  and  feelings,  Pete 
thought  he  would  be  willing  to  give  half  of  what 
he  was  worth,  for  the  bare  sight  of  a  human  face. 

"  I  don't  like  the  signs,  no  how,"  said  he,  casting 
a  rapid  glance  around  him  ;  and  then  throwing  his 
eyes  downwards  at  his  own  shadow,  which  had 
ceased  its  rotatory  motion,  and  was  now  swinging 
from  right  to  left  like  a  pendulum — "I  dont  like  the 
signs,  I  feel  sort  o'  jubus.  But  I'll  soon  see,  whe- 
ther other  people's  shadows  act  the  fool  like  mine." 

Upon  further  observation,  there  appeared  to  be 
something  peculiar  in  the  human  tracks  before  him, 
which  were  evidently  made  by  a  pair  of  feet,  of 
which  one  was  larger  than  the  other.  As  there 
was  no  person  in  the  settlement  who  was  thus  de- 
formed, Pete  began  to  doubt  whether  it  might  not 
be  the  Devil,  who,  in  borrowing  shoes  to  conceal 
his  cloven  hoofs,  might  have  got  those  that  were  not 
fellows.  He  stopped  and  scratched  his  head,  as 
many  a  learned  philosopher  has  done,  when  placed 
between  the  horns  of  a  dilemma  less  perplexing 
than  that  which  now  vexed  the  spirit  of  our  hunter. 
It  was  said  long  ago — that  there  is  a  tide  in  the 
affairs  of  men,  and  although  our  friend  Pete  had 
never  seen  this  sentiment  in  black  and  white,  yet  it 
is  one  of  those  truths,  which  are  written  in  the 
heart  of  every  reasonable  being,  and  was  only  co- 
pied by  the  poet  from  the  great  book  of  nature.  It 
readily  occurred  to  Pete  on  this  occasion.  And  as 
he  had  enjoyed  through  life  a  tide  of  success,  he  re- 


TPETE  FEATHERTON.  245 

fleeted  whether  the  stream  of  fortune  might  not 
have  changed  its  course,  like  the  brooks  he  had 
crossed,  whose  waters,  for  some  sinister  reason, 
seemed  to  be  crawling  up-hill.  But,  again,  it  oc- 
curred to  him,  that  to  turn  back,  would  argue  a 
want  of  that  courage,  which  he  had  been  taught  to 
consider  as  the  chief  of  the  cardinal  virtues. 

"  I  can't  back  out,"  said  he.  "  I  never  was 
raised  to  it,  no  how; — and  if  so-be  the  Devil's 
a  mind  to  hunt  in  this  range,  he  shan't  have  all  the 
game." 

He  soon  overtook  the  person  in  advance  of  him, 
who,  as  he  had  suspected,  was  a  perfect  stranger. 
He  had  halted,  and  was  quietly  seated  on  a  log,  ga- 
zing at  the  sun,  when  Pete  approached,  and  saluted 
him  with  the  usual — "How  are  you,  stranger?" 
The  latter  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  gaze  at 
the  sun,  as  if  totally  unconscious  that  any  other 
person  was  present.  He  was  a  small,  thin,  old  man, 
with  a  grey  beard  of  about  a  month's  growth,  and  a 
long,  sallow,  melancholy  visage,  while  a  tarnished 
suit  of  snuff-coloured  clothes,  cut  after  the  quaint 
fashion  of  some  religious  sect,  hung  loosely  about 
his  shrivelled  person. 

Our  hunter,  somewhat  awed,  now  coughed — 
threw  the  butt  end  of  the  gun  heavily  upon  the 
ground — and,  still  failing  to  elicit  any  attention, 
quietly  seated  himself  on  the  other  end  of  the  same 
log,  which  the  stranger  occupied.  Both  remained 
silent  for  some  minutes — Pete  with  open  mouth,  and 
21* 


246  PETE    FEATHERTON. 

glaring  eye-balls,  observing  his  companion  in  mute 
astonishment,  and  the  latter  looking  at  the  sun. 

"It's  a  warm  day,  this,"  said  Pete,  at  length; 
passing  his  hand  across  his  brow,  as  he  spoke,  and 
sweeping  off  the  heavy  drops  of  perspiration  that 
hung  there.  But  receiving  no  answer,  he  began  to 
get  nettled.  His  native  assurance,  which  had  been 
damped  by  the  mysterious  deportment  of  the  person 
who  sat  before  him,  revived  ;  and  screwing  his  cou- 
rage to  the  sticking  point,  he  arose,  approached  the 
silent  man,  and  slapping  him  on  the  back,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Well,  stranger  !  don't  the  sun  look  mighty  droll, 
away  out  there  in  the  north  ?" 

As  the  heavy  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder,  the  stran- 
ger slowly  turned  his  face  towards  Pete,  who  re- 
coiled several  paces  ; — then  rising,  without  paying 
our  hunter  any  further  attention,  he  began  to  pur- 
sue the  trail  of  the  deer.  Pete  prepared  to  follow, 
when  the  other,  turning  upon  him  with  a  stern 
glance,  enquired — 

"Who  are  you  tracking?" 

*'  Not  you,"  replied  the  hunter,  whose  alarm  had 
subsided,  when  the  enemy  began  to  retreat ;  and 
whose  pride  piqued  by  the  abruptness  with  which 
he  had  been  treated,  enabled  him  to  assume  his 
usual  boldness  of  manner. 

**  What  do  you  trail  then.?" 

« I  trail  deer." 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  247 

"  You  must  not  pursue  them  further,  they  are 
mine." 

The  sound  of  the  stranger's  voice  broke  the 
spell,  which  had  hung  over  Pete's  natural  impu- 
dence, and  he  now  shouted — 

"Your  deer!  That's  droll  too!  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  man  claiming  the  deer  in  the  woods?" 

"  Provoke  me  not, — I  tell  you  they  are  mine." 

"  Well,  now, — you're  a  comical  chap  !  Why, 
man  !  the  deer  are  wild !  Thy're  jist  nateral  to  the 
woods  here,  the  same  as  the  timber.  You  might 
as  well  say  the  wolves,  and  the  painters  are  yours, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  wild  varmants." 

"  The  tracks,  you  behold  here,  are  those  of  wild 
deer,  undoubtedly ;  but  they  are  mine.  1  roused 
them  from  their  bed,  and  am  driving  them  to  my 
home,  which  is  not  of  this  country." 

"  Couldn't  you  take  a  pack  or  two  of  wolves 
along  ?"  said  Pete,  sneeringly.  "  We  can  spare 
you  a  small  gang.  It's  mighty  wolfy  about  here." 

"If  you  follow  me  any  further,  it  is  at  your  peril !" 
said  the  stranger. 

"  You  don't  suppose  I'm  to  be  skeered,  do  you  ? 
You  musn't  come  over  them  words  agin.  There's 
no  back  out  in  none  of  my  breed." 

"  I  repeat " 

"  You  had  best  not  repeat, — I  allow  no  man  to 
repeat  in  my  presence," — interrupted  the  irritated 
woodsman.  "I'm  Virginia  born,  and  Kentucky 

• 


248  PETE    FEATHERTON. 

raised,  and,  drot  my  skin !  if  1  take  the  like  of  that 
from  any  man  that  ever  wore  shoe  leather." 

"  Desist !  rash  man,  from  altercation.  I  despise 
your  threats." 

"  1  tell  you  what,  stranger !"  said  Pete,  endea- 
vouring to  imitate  the  coolness  of  the  other,  "  as  to 
the  matter  of  a  deer  or  two — I  don't  vally  them  to 
the  tantamount  of  this  here  cud  of  tobacco  ;  but  I'm 
not  to  be  backed  out  of  my  tracks.  So,  keep  off, 
stranger !  Don't  come  fooling  about  me.  I  feel 
mighty  wolfy  about  the  head  and  shoulders.  Keep 
off!  I  say,  or  you  might  get  hurt." 

With  this,  the  hunter,  to  use  his  own  language, 
"  squared  himself,  and  sot  his  triggers," — fully  de- 
termined, either  to  hunt  the  disputed  game,  or  to 
be  vanquished  in  combat.  To  his  surprise,  the 
stranger  without  appearing  to  notice  his  prepara- 
rations,  advanced,  and  blew  with  his  breath  upon 
his  rifle. 

"  Your  gun  is  charmed  !"  said  he.  "  From  this 
time  forward,  you  will  kill  no  deer."  And  so  say- 
ing, he  deliberately  resumed  his  journey. 

Pete  Featherton  remained  a  moment  or  two,  lost 
in  confusion.  He  then  thought  he  would  pursue 
the  stranger,  and  punish  him  as  well  for  his  threats, 
as  for  the  insult  intended  to  his  gun  ;  but  a  little  re- 
flection induced  him  to  change  his  decision.  The 
confident  manner,  in  which  that  mysterious  being 
haa  spoken,  together  with  a  kind  of  vague  assurance 
within  his  own  mind,  that  the  spell  had  really 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  249 

taken  effect,  so  unmanned  and  stupified  him,  that  he 
quietly  "  took  the  back  track,"  and  sauntered  home- 
wards. He  had  not  gone  far,  before  he  saw  a  fine 
buck,  half  concealed  among  the  hazel  bushes  which 
beset  his  path,  and  resolving  to  know  at  once  how 
matters  stood  between  Brown  Bess  and  the  pretend- 
ed conjurer,  he  took  a  deliberate  aim,  fired,  and — 
away  bounded  the  buck  unharmed  ! 

With  a  heavy  heart,  our  mortified  forester  re-en- 
tered his  dwelling,  and  replaced  his  degraded  wea- 
pon in  its  accustomed  berth  under  the  rafters. 

"  You  have  been  long  gone,"  said  his  wife  ; — 
"  but  where  is  the  venison  you  promised  me  ?" 

Pete  was  constrained  to  confess  he  had  shot  no- 
thing. 

"  That  is  strange !"  said  the  lady.  "  1  never 
knew  you  fail  before." 

Pete  framed  twenty  excuses.  He  had  felt  unwell ; 
his  rifle  was  out  of  fix — and  there  were  not  many 
deer  stirring. 

Had  not  Pete  been  a  very  young  husband,  he 
would  have  known,  that  the  vigilant  eye  of  a  wife 
is  not  to  be  deceived  by  feigned  apologies.  Mrs. 
Featherton  saw,  that  something  had  happened  to 
her  helpmate,  more  than  he  was  willing  to  confess  ; 
and  being  quite  as  tenacious  as  himself,  in  her  reluc- 
tance against  being"  backed  out  of  her  tracks," she 
advanced  firmly  to  her  object,  and  Pete  was  com- 
pelled to  own,  "  That  he  believed  Brown  Bess  was 
somehow-- — sort  o' charmed," 


250  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Featherton  !"  said  his  sprightly  bride, 
"  are  you  not  ashamed  to  tell  me  such  a  tale  as  that ! 
Ah,  well !  I  know  how  it  is.  You  have  been  down 
at  the  store,  shooting  at  a  mark  for  half  pints  !" 

"  No,  indeed  !"  replied  the  husband  emphatically, 
"  I  wish  I  may  be  kissed  to  death,  if  I've  pulled  a 
trigger  for  a  drop  of  liquor  this  day." 

"Well,  do  now — that's  a  good  dear! — tell  me 
where  you  have  been,  and  what  has  happened  ?  For 
never  did  Pete  Featherton,  and  Brown  Bess,  fail  to 
get  a  venison  any  day  in  the  year." 

Soothed  by  this  well-timed  compliment,  and  will- 
ing, perhaps,  to  have  the  aid  of  counsel  in  this  try- 
ing emergency,  Pete  narrated  minutely  to  his  wife, 
all  the  particulars  of  his  meeting  with  the  mysterious 
stranger.  Unfortunately,  the  good  lady  was  as  won- 
der-struck as  himself,  and  unable  to  give  any  advice. 
She  simply  prescribed  bathing  his  feet,  and  going  to 
bed  ;  and  Pete,  though  he  could  not  perceive  how 
this  was  to  affect  his  gun,  passively  submitted. 

On  the  following  day,  when  Pete  awoke,  the 
events  which  we  have  described,  appeared  to  him 
as  a  dream ;  and  resolving  to  know  the  truth,  he 
seized  his  gun,  and  hastened  to  the  woods.  But, 
alas !  every  experiment  produced  the  same  vexa- 
tious result.  The  gun  was  charmed !  and  the 
hunter  stalked  harmlessly  through  the  forest.  Day 
after  day,  he  went  forth  and  returned,  with  no  bet- 
ter success.  The  very  deer  themselves  became 
sensible  of  his  inoffensiveness,  and  would  raise 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  251 

their  heads,  and  gaze  mildly  at  him  as  he  passed ; 
or  throw  back  their  horns,  and  bound  carelessly 
across  his  path !  Day  after  day,  and  week  after 
week,  passed  without  bringing  any  change;  and 
Pete  began  to  feel  very  ridiculously.  He  could 
imagine  no  situation  more  miserable  than  his  own. 
To  walk  through  the  woods,  to  see  -the  game,  to 
come  within  gun-shot  of  it,  and  yet  to  be  unable  to 
kill  a  deer,  seemed  to  be  the  ne  plus  ultra  of 
human  wretchedness.  There  was  a  littleness,  an 
insignificance,  attached  to  the  idea  of  not  being 
able  to  kill  a  deer,  which  to  Pete's  mind  was 
downright  disgrace.  More  than  once  he  was 
tempted  to  throw  his  gun  into  the  river ;  but  the 
excellence  of  the  weapon,  and  the  recollection  of 
former  exploits,  as  often  restrained  him;  and  he 
continued  to  stroll  through  the  woods,  firing  now 
and  then  at  a  fat  buck,  under  the  hope  that  the 
charm  would  some  time  or  other  expire  by  its  own 
limitation  ;  but  the  fat  bucks  continued  to  frisk 
fearlessly  in  his  path. 

At  length,  Pete  bethought  himself  of  a  celebrated 
Indian  doctor,  who  lived  at  no  great  distance. 
An  Indian  doctor,  be  it  known,  is  not  necessarily 
a  descendant  of  the  aborigines.  The  title,  it  is 
true,  originates  in  the  confidence  which  many  of 
our  countrymen  repose  in  the  medical  skill  of  the 
Indian  tribes.  But  to  make  an  Indian  doctor,  a 
red  skin  is  by  no  means  indispensable.  To  have 
been  taught  by  a  savage,  to  have  seen  one,  or,  at 


252  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

all  events,  to  have  heard  of  one,  is  all  that  is  ne- 
cessary to  enable  an  individual  to  practise  this  lu- 
crative and  popular  branch  of  the  healing  art. 
Your  Indian  doctor  is  one  who  practises  without  a 
diploma  and  without  physic ;  who  neither  nau- 
seates the  stomach  with  odious  drugs,  nor  mars  the 
fair  proportions  of  nature  with  the  sanguinary  lan- 
cet. He  believes  in  the  sympathy  which  is  sup- 
posed to  exist  between  the  body  and  the  mind, 
which,  like  the  two  arms  of  a  Syphon,  always 
preserve  a  corresponding  relation  to  each  other ; 
and  the  difference  between  him  and  the  re 
gular  physician  is,  that  they  operate  at  different 
points  of  the  same  figure — the  one  practising  on 
the  immaterial  spirit,  while  the  other  boldly  grap- 
ples with  the  bones  and  muscle.  I  cannot  deter- 
mine which  is  in  the  right ;  but  must  award  to  the 
Indian  doctor  at  least  this  advantage,  that  his  art  is 
the  most  widely  beneficial ;  for  while  your  doctor 
of  medicine  restores  a  los.t  appetite,  his  rival  can, 
in  addition,  recover  a  strayed  or  stolen  horse.  If 
the  former  can  bring  back  the  faded  lustre  of  a  fair 
maiden's  cheek,  the  latter  can  remove  the  spell 
from  a  churn,  or  a  rifle. 

To  a  sage  of  this  order,  did  Pete  disclose  his 
misfortune,  and  apply  for  relief.  The  doctor  exa- 
mined the  gun ;  and  having  measured  the  calibre  of 
the  bore,  with  the  same  solemnity  with  which  he 
would  have  felt  the  pulse  of  a  patient,  directed  the 
applicant  to  call  again.  At  the  appointed  time  the 


PETE  FEATHERTON.  253 

hunter  returned,  and  received  two  balls — one  of 
pink,  the  other  of  a  silver  hue.  The  doctor  in- 
structed him  to  load  his  piece  with  one  of  these 
bullets,  which  he  pointed  out,  and  proceed  through 
the  woods  to  a  certain  hollow,  at  the  head  of 
which  was  a  spring.  Here  he  would  find  a  white 
fawn,  at  which  he  was  to  shoot.  It  would  be 
wounded,  but  would  escape ;  and  he  was  to  pursue 
its  trail,  until  he  found  a  buck,  which  he  was  to 
kill  with  the  other  ball.  If  he  accomplished  all 
this  accurately,  the  charm  would  be  broken.  •  f  . 

Pete,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  all  the  lo- 
calities, carefully  pursued  the  route  which  had 
been  indicated,  treading  lightly  along,  sometimes 
elated  with  the  prospect  of  speedily  breaking  the 
spell — sometimes  doubting  the  skill  of  the  doctor 
— and  ashamed  alternately  of  his  doubts  and  of  his 
belief.  At  length  he  reached  the  lonely  glen  ;  and 
his  heart  bounded  as  he  beheld  the  white  fawn 
quietly  grazing  by  the  fountain.  The  ground  was 
open ;  and  he  was  unable  to  get  within  his  usual 
distance,  before  the  fawn  raised  her  head,  looked 
mournfully  around,  and  snuffed  the  breeze,  as  if 
conscious  of  the  approach  of  danger.  His  heart 
palpitated.  It  was  a  long  shot,  and  a  bad  chance  ; 
but  he  dared  not  advance  from  his  concealment. 

"  Luck's    a    lord,"    said  he,   as    he    drew   up 
his  gun,  and  pulled  the  trigger.     The  fawn  bound- 
ed  aloft   at   the    report,   and    then   darted   away 
through  the  brush,  while  the  hunter  hastened  to 
22 


254  PETE  FEATHERTON. 

examine  the  signs.  To  his  great  joy,  he  found  the 
blood  profusely  scattered ;  and  now  flushed  with 
the  confidence  of  success,  he  stoutly  rammed  down 
the  other  ball,  and  pursued  the  trail  of  the  wound- 
ed fawn.  Long  did  he  trace  the  crimson  drops 
upon  the  snow,  without  beholding  the  promised 
victim.  Hill  after  hill  he  climbed,  vale  after  vale 
he  passed — searching  every  thicket  with  penetrat- 
ing eyes ;  and  he  was  about  to  renounce  the  chase, 
the  wizard,  and  the  gun,  when,  lo  ! — directly  in  his 
path  stood  a  noble  buck,  with  numerous  antlers 
branching  over  his  fine  head ! 

"Ah,  ha!  my  jolly  fellow  !  I  Ve  found  you  out 
at  last !"  said  the  delighted  hunter,  "  you  're  the 
very  chap  1  've  been  looking  after.  Your  blood 
shall  wipe  off  the  disgrace  from  my  charming  Bess, 
that  never  missed  fire,  burned  priming,  nor  cleared 
the  mark  in  her  born  days,  till  that  vile  Yankee 
witch  cursed  her  ! Here  goes  ! " 

He  shot  the  buck.  His  rifle  was  restored  to 
favour,  and  he  never  again  wanted  venison. 


255 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 


On  one  of  those  clear  nights  in  December,  when 
the  cloudless,  blue  sky  is  studded  with  millions  of 
brilliant  luminaries,  shining  with  more  than  ordinary 
lustre,  a  young  gentleman  was  seen  rapidly  pacing 
one  of  the  principal  streets  of  Pittsburgh.  Had  he 
been  a  lover  of  nature,  the  beauty  of  the  heavens 
must  have  attracted  his  observation ;  but  he  was 
too  much  wrapt  up  in  his  thoughts — or  in  his  cloak 
— to  throw  a  single  glance  towards  the  silent  orbs, 
that  glowed  so  beauteously  in  the  firmament.  A 
piercing  wind  swept  through  the  streets,  moaning 
and  sighing,  as  if  it  felt  the  pain  that  it  inflicted.  The 
intense  coldness  of  the  weather  had  driven  the  usual 
loiterers  of  the  night  from  their  accustomed  loun- 
ging places.  Every  door  and  shutter  was  closed 
against  the  common  enemy,  save  where  the 

"  Blue  spirits  and  red, 
Black  spirits  and  grey," 


256  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

which  adorn  the  shelves  of  the  druggist,  mingled 
their  hues  with  the  shadows  of  the  night ;  or  where 
the  window  of  the  confectioner,  redolent  of  light, 
and  fruit,  and  sugar  plumbs,  shed  its  refulgence  up- 
on the  half  petrified  wanderer.  The  streets  were 
forsaken,  except  by  a  fearless,  or  necessitous  few, 
who  glided  rapidly  and  silently  along,  as  the  spec- 
tres of  the  night.  Aught  else  than  love  or  murder 
would  scarcely  have  ventured  to  stalk  abroad  on 
such  a  night ;  and  yet  it  would  be  hardly  fair  to  set 
down  the  few,  unfortunate  stragglers,  who  faced  the 
blast  on  this  eventful  evening,  as  lovers  or  assassins. 
Pleasure  sends  forth  her  thousands,  and  necessity 
her  millions,  into  all  the  dangers  and  troubles  of 
this  boisterous  world. 

On  reaching  the  outlet  of  an  obscure  alley,  the 
young  gentleman  paused,  cast  a  suspicious  glance 
around,  as  if  fearful  of  observation,  and  then  darted 
into  the  gloomy  passage.  A  few  rapid  steps  brought 
him  to  the  front  of  a  wretched  frame  building,  ap- 
parently untenanted,  or  occupied  only  as  a  ware- 
house, through  whose  broken  panes  the  wind  whis- 
tled, while  the  locked  doors  seemed  to  bid  defiance 
to  any  ingress,  but  that  of  the  piercing  element.  It 
was  in  truth  a  lonely  back  building,  in  the  heart  of 
the  town ;  but  so  concealed  by  the  surrounding 
houses,  that  it  might  as  well  have  been  in  the  silent 
bosom  of  the  forest.  A  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  as- 
cending the  outside  of  the  edifice,  led  to  an  upper 
story.  Ascending  these,  the  youth,  opening  the 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  257 

door  with  the  familiarity  of  an  accustomed  visiter, 
emerged  from  the  gloom  of  the  night,  into  the  light 
and  life  of  the  Billiard  Room. 

It  was  a  large  apartment,  indifferently  lighted, 
and  meanly  furnished.  In  the  centre  stood  the 
billiard  table,  whose  allurements  had  enticed  so 
many  on  this  evening  to  forsake  the  quiet  and  vir- 
tuous comforts  of  social  life,  and  to  brave  the  biting 
blast,  and  the  not  less  "  pitiless  peltings"  of  pa- 
rental or  conjugal  admonition.  Its  polished  mahoga- 
ny frame,  and  neatly  brushed  cover  of  green  cloth, 
its  silken  pockets,  and  party-coloured  ivory  balls, 
presenting  a  striking  constrast  to  the  rude  negli- 
gence of  the  rest  of  the  furniture;  while  a  large 
canopy  suspended  over  the  table,  and  intended  to 
collect  and  refract  the  rays  of  a  number  of  well 
trimmed  lamps,  which  hung  within  its  circumfer- 
ence, shed  an  intense  brilliance  over  that  little  spot, 
and  threw  a  corresponding  gloom  upon  the  sur- 
rounding scene.  Indeed  if  that  gay  altar  of  dissipa- 
tion had  been  withdrawn,  the  temple  of  pleasure 
would  have  presented  rather  the  desolate  appear- 
ance of  the  house  of  mourning. 

The  stained  and  dirty  floor  was  strewed  with 
fragments  of  segars,  play-bills,  and  nut  shells  ;  the 
walls  blackened  with  smoke,  seemed  to  have  wit- 
nessed the  orgies  of  many  a  midnight  revel.  A 
few  candles,  destined  to  illumine  the  distant  recesses 
of  the  room,  hung  neglected  against  the  walls — 
bowing  their  long  wicks,  and  marking  their  stations 
22* 


258  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

by  streams  of  tallow,  which  had  been  suffered  to 
accumulate  through  many  along  winter  night.  The 
ceiling  was  hung  with  cobwebs,  curiously  intermin- 
gled with  dense  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  and 
tinged  by  the  straggling  rays  of  light,  which  occa- 
sionally shot  from  the  sickly  tapers.  A  set  of 
benches,  attached  to  the  walls,  and  raised  suffi- 
ciently high  to  overlook  the  table,  accommodated 
the  loungers,  who  were  not  engaged  at  play,  and 
who  sat  or  reclined — solemnly  puffing  their  segars, 
idly  sipping  their  brandy  and  water — or  industri- 
ously counting  the  chances  of  the  game;  but  all 
observing  a  profound  silence,  which  would  have 
done  honour  to  a  turbaned  divan,  and  and  was  well 
suited  to  the  important  subjects  of  their  contempla- 
tion. Little  coteries  of  gayer  spirits  laughed  and 
chatted  aside,  or  made  their  criticisms  on  the  play- 
ers in  subdued  accents  ;• — any  remarks  on  that  sub- 
ject being  forbiden  to  all  but  the  parties  engaged  ; 
while  the  marker  announced  the  state  of  the  game, 
trimmed  the  lamps,  and  supplied  refreshments  to 
the  guests. 

Mr.  St.  Clair,  the  gentleman  whom  we  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  tracing  to  this  varied  scene, 
was  cordially  greeted  on  his  entrance  by  the 
party  at  the  table,  who  had  been  denouncing  the 
adverse  elements  which  had  caused  the  absence 
of  several  of  their  choicest  spirits.  The  game  at 
which  they  were  then  playing  being  one  which  ad- 
mitted of  an  indefinite  number  of  players,  St.  Clair 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  259 

was  readily  permitted  to  take  a  ball ;  and,  engaging 
with  ardour  in  the  fascinating  amusement,  was  soon 
lost  to  all  that  occurred  beyond  the  little  circle  of 
its  witchery. 

The  intense  coldness  of  the  night  was  so  severe- 
ly felt  in  the  badly  warmed  apartment  which  we 
have  attempted  to  describe,  that  the  party  broke 
up  earlier  than  usual.  One  by  one  they  dropped 
off,  until  St.  Clair  and  another  of  the  players  were 
left  alone.  These,  being  both  skilful,  engaged 
each  other  single-handed,  and  became  so  deeply 
interested,  as  scarcely  to  observe  the  defection  of 
their  companions,  until  they  found  the  room  entire- 
ly deserted.  The  night  was  far  spent.  The  mark- 
er, whose  services  were  no  longer  required,  was 
nodding  over  the  grate ;  the  candles  were  wasting 
in  their  sockets,  and  although  a  steady  brilliance 
still  fell  upon  the  table,  the  back  ground  was  as 
dark  as  it  was  solitary. 

The  most  careless  observer  might  have  remark- 
ed the  great  disparity  of  character  exhibited  in  the 
two  players,  who  now  matched  their  skill  in  this 
graceful  and  fascinating  game.  St.  Clair  was  a 
genteel  young  man  of  about  live  and  twenty.  His 
manners  had  all  the  ease  of  one  accustomed  to  the 
best  society ;  his  countenance  was  open  and  prepos- 
sessing; his  whole  demeanour  frank  and  manly. 
There  was  a  careless  gaiety  in  his  air,  happily 
blended  with  an  habitual  politeness  and  dignity  of 
carriage,  which  added  much  to  the  ordinary  graces 


260  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

of  youth  and  amiability.  His  features  displayed 
no  trace  of  thought  or  genius ;  for  Mr.  St.  Clair 
was  one  of  that  large  class,  who  please  without  de- 
sign and  without  talent,  and  who,  by  dint  of  light 
hearts,  and  graceful  exteriors,  thrive  better  in  this 
world,  than  those  who  think  and  feel  more  acutely. 
Feeling  he  had,  but  it  was  rather  amiable  than 
deep ;  and  his  understanding,  though  solid,  was  of 
that  plain  and  practical  kind,  which,  though  adapt- 
ed to  the  ordinary  business  of  life,  seldom  expands 
itself  to  grasp  at  any  object  beyond  that  narrow 
sphere.  It  was  very  evident  that  he  had  known 
neither  guile  nor  sorrow.  In  his  brief  journey 
through  life,  he  had  as  yet  trod  only  in  flowery 
paths ;  and  having  passed  joyously  along,  was  not 
aware  that  the  snares  which  catch  the  feet  of  the 
unwary,  lie  ambushed  in  the  sunniest  spots  of  our 
existence.  He  was  a  man  of  small  fortune,  and 
was  happily  married  to  a  lovely  young  woman,  to 
whom  he  was  devotedly  attached ;  and  who,  when 
she  bestowed  her  hand,  had  given  him  the  entire 
possession  of  a  warm  and  spotless  heart.  They 
had  lately  arrived  at  Pittsburg,  and  being  about  to 
settle  in  some  part  of  the  western  country,  had  de- 
termined to  spend  the  ensuing  spring  and  summer 
in  this  city,  where  Mrs.  St.  Clair  might  enjoy  the 
comforts  of  good  society  until  her  husband  prepar- 
ed their  future  residence  for  her  reception. 

His  opponent  was  some  ten  years  older   than 
himself;  a  short,  thin,  straight  man- — with  a  keen 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  261 

eye  and  sallow  complexion.  He  was  one  of  those 
persons  who  may  be  seen  in  shoals  at  the  taverns 
and  gambling  houses  of  a  large  town,  and  who 
mingle  with  better  people  in  stage  coaches  and 
steam  boats.  He  had  knocked  about  the  world,  as 
his  own  expression  was,  until,  like  an  old  coin 
whose  original  impression  has  been  worn  off,  he 
had  few  marks  left  by  which  his  birth  or  country 
could  be  traced.  But,  like  that  same  coin,  the  sur- 
face only  was  altered,  the  base  metal  was  unchang- 
ed. He  aped  the  gentility  which  he  did  not  pos- 
sess, and  was  ambitious  of  shining  both  in  dress  and 
manners; — but  nature,  when  she  placed  him  in  a 
low  condition,  had  never  intended  he  should  rise 
above  it. 

It  is  unfortunate  for  such  people,  that,  like  hypo- 
crites in  religion,  demagogues  in  politics,  and  empi- 
rics of  all  sorts,  they  always  overact  their  parts, 
and  by  an  excessive  zeal  betray  their  ignorance  or 
knavery.  Thus  the  person  in  question,  by  misap- 
plying the  language  of  his  superiors  in  education, 
betrayed  his  ignorance,  and  by  going  to  the  ex- 
treme of  every  fashion,  was  always  too  well  dress- 
ed for  a  gentleman.  In  short,  he  was  a  gambler — 
who  roamed  from  town  to  town,  preying  upon 
young  libertines,  and  old  debauchees  ;  and  employ- 
ing as  much  ingenuity  in  his  vocation,  as  would  set 
up  half  a  dozen  lawyers,  and  as  much  industry  as 
would  make  the  fortunes  of  half  a  dozen  mecha- 
nics. 


262  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

Such  were  the  players  who  were  left  together, 
like  the  last  champions  at  a  tournament — who, 
after  vanquishing  all  their  competitors,  now  turned 
their  arms  against  each  other.  For  a  while  they 
displayed  a  courtesy,  which  seemed  to  be  the  effect 
of  a  respect  for  each  other's  skill.  It  was  natural 
to  St.  Clair;  in  the  gambler  it  was  assumed.  The 
latter  having  found  the  opportunity  he  had  long  ea- 
gerly sought,  soon  began  to  practise  the  arts  of  his 
profession.  The  game  of  billiards,  requiring  great 
precision  of  eye,  and  steadiness  of  hand,  can  only 
be  played  well  by  one  who  is  completely  master  of 
his  temper;  and  the  experienced  opponent  of  St- 
Clair  essayed  to  touch  a  string,  on  which  he  had 
often  worked  with  success. 

"  You  are  a  married  man,  I  believe  ?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  sir,—" 

"  That  was  bad  play — you  had  nearly  missed  the 
ball." 

"  You  spoke  to  me  just  as  1  was  striking,"  said 
St.  Clair  good  humouredly. 

"Oh!  1  beg  pardon.  Where  did  you  learn  to 
play  billiards  ?"  ti  , 

"  In  Philadelphia." 

"  Do  they  understand  the  game  ?" 

"  1  have  seen  some  fine  players  there." 

"  Very  likely.  But  1  doubt  whether  they  play 
the  scientific  game.  New  Orleans  is  the  only  place. 
There  they  go  it  in  style.  See  there  now  !  That 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  263 

was  a  very  bad  play  of  yours.     You  played  on  the 
wrong  ball." 

"  No,  sir,  I  was  right." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir.  I  profess  to  understand  this 
game.  There  was  an  easy  cannon  on  the  table, 
when  you  aimed  to  pocket  the  white  ball." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  St.  Clair. 

"  Oh,  very  well !  I  meant  no  offence.  Now  mark 
how  I  shall  count  off  these  balls.  Do  you  see  that  ? 
There's  play  for  you  !  You  say  you  are  a  married 
man  ?" 

"  I  said  so.     What  then  ?" 

"  1  thought  as  much  by  your  play." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Why,  you  married  men  are  accustomed  to  early 
hours,  and  get  sleepy  earlier  than  we  do." 

"  I  did  not  think  I  had  shown  any  symptoms  of 
drowsiness." 

"  Oh,  no !  1  meant  no  allusion.  There's  another 
bad  play  of  yours." 

"  You  will  find,  I  play  sufficiently  well,  before 
we  are  done." 

"  Oh  !  no  doubt.  I  meant  nothing.  You  play  an 
elegant  game.  But  then,  you  married  men  get 
scared,  when  it  grows  late.  No  man  can  play  bil- 
liards, when  he  is  in  a  hurry  to  go  home.  A  mar- 
ried gentleman  can't  help  thinking  of  the  sour  looks, 
and  cross  answers,  he  is  apt  to  get,  when  he  goes 
home  after  midnight." 

"  1  will  thank  you  to   make  no  such  allusions  to 


264  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

me,"  said  St.  Clair,  "  I  am  neither  scared  nor  sleepy, 
but  able  to  beat  you  as  long  as  you  please." 

"Oh,  very  well!  1  don't  value  myself  on  my 
playing.  Shall  we  double  the  bet  ?  and  have  ano- 
ther bottle  of  wine?" 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Agreed.  Now  do  your  best — or  I  shall  beat 
you." 

Pestered  by  this  impertinence,  St.  Clair  lost  se- 
veral games.  His  want  of  success  added  to  his  im- 
patience ;  and  his  tormenter  continued  to  vex  him 
with  taunting  remarks  until  his  agitation  became 
uncontrollable.  He  drank  to  steady  his  nerves  ;  but 
drink  only  inflamed  his  passion.  He  doubled,  tre- 
bled, quadrupled  the  bet  to  change  his  luck ;  but  in 
vain.  Every  desperate  attempt  urged  him  towards 
his  ruin  ;  and  it  was  happy  for  him,  that  his  natural 
good  sense  enabled  him  to  stop,  before  his  fate  was 
consummated — though  not  until  he  had  lost  a  large 
sum. 

Vexed  with  his  bad  fortune,  St.  Clair  left  the 
house  of  dissipation,  and  turned  his  reluctant  steps 
towards  his  own  dwelling.  His  slow  and  thought- 
ful pace  was  now  far  different,  from  the  usual  light- 
ness of  his  graceful  carriage.  It  was  not,  that  he 
feared  the  frown  of  his  lovely  wife ;  for  to  him  her 
brow  had  always  been  unclouded,  and  her  lips  had 
only  breathed  affection.  She  was  one  of  those 
gentle  beings,  whose  sweetness  withers  not  with  the 
hour  or  the  season ;  but  endures  through  all  vicis- 
situdes. 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  265 

It  was  the  recollection  of  that  fervent  and  for- 
bearing love,  that  now  pressed  like  a  leaden  weight 
upon  the  conscience  of  the  gambler,  when  he  re- 
flected upon  the  many  little  luxuries,  and  innocent 
enjoyments,  of  which  that  lovely  woman  had  de- 
prived herself,  while  he  had  squandered  vast  sums 
in  selfish  dissipation.  Having  never  before  lost  so 
much  at  play,  this  view  of  the  case  had  not  occur- 
red to  him  ;  and  it  now  came  home  to  his  bosom 
with  full  force — bringing  pangs  of  the  keenest  self- 
reproach.  He  recalled  the  many  projects  of  do- 
mestic comfort  they  had  planned  together,  some  of 
which  must  now  be  delayed  by  his  imprudence. 
That  very  evening  they  had  spoken  of  the  rural 
dwelling  they  intended  to  inhabit ;  and  LOUISA'S 
taste  had  suggested  a  variety  of  improvements,  with 
which  it  should  be  embellished.  When  he  left  her, 
he  promised  to  return  soon  ; — and  now,  after  a  long 
absence,  he  came,  the  messenger — if  not  of  ruin — 
at  least  of  disappointment.  The  influence  of  wine, 
and  the  agitation  of  his  mind,  had  wrought  up  the 
usually  placid  feelings  of  St.  Clair,  into  a  state  of 
high  excitement.  His  imagination  wandered  to  the 
past  and  to  the  future  ;  and  every  picture,  that  he 
contemplated,  added  to  his  pain. 

"  I  will  go  to  Louisa,"  said  he.  "  I  will  confess 
all.  Late  as  it  is,  she  is  still  watching  for  me.  Poor 
girl !  She  little  thinks,  that  while  she  has  been  count- 
ing the  heavy  hours  of  my  absence,  I  have  been 
23 


266  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

madly  courting  wretchedness  for  myself,  arid  pre- 
paring the  bitter  cup  of  affliction  for  her." 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  he  reached  his  own  door, 
and  tapped  gently  for  admittance.  He  was  sur- 
prised that  his  summons  was  not  immediately  an- 
swered; for  the  watchful  solicitude  of  his  wife  had 
always  kept  her  from  retiring  in  his  absence.  He 
knocked  again  and  again — and  at  last,  when  his 
patience  was  nearly  exhausted,  a  slip-shod  house- 
maid came  shivering  to  the  door.  He  snatched  the 
candle  from  her  hand,  and  ascended  to  his  cham- 
ber. It  was  deserted ! 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  St.  Clair  ?"  said  he  to  the  maid 
who  had  followed  him. 

"  Gone" "  Gone  !     Where  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  she  went  away  with  a  gentleman." 
"Away  with  a  gentleman  !  Impossible!" 
"Yes,  sir,  indeed  she  went  off  with  a  gentleman 
in  a  carriage." 

"  When  ?— Where  did  she  go  ?" 
"  I  don't  know  where  she  went,  sir.     She  never 
intimated  a  word  to  me.     She  started  just  after  you 
left  home." 

"  Did  she  leave  no  message  ? 
"  No,  sir,  not  any.      She  was  in  a  great  hurry." 
St.  Clair  motioned  the  girl  to  retire,  and  sunk 
into  a  chair. 

"  She  has  left  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "  cruel,  faith- 
less Louisa  !  Never  did  1  believe  you  would  have 
forsaken  me  !  No,  no — it  can  not  be.  Louisa 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  267 

eloped  !  The  best,  the  kindest,  the  sincerest  of 
human  beings?  Impossible!" 

He  rose,  and  paced  the  room — tortured  with 
pangs  of  unutterable  anguish.  He  gazed  round  the 
apartment,  and  his  dwelling,  once  so  happy,  seemed 
desolate  as  a  tomb.  He  murmured  the  name  of 
Louisa,  and  a  thousand  joys  rose  to  his  recollection. 
All — all  were  blasted  !  For  she,  in  whose  love  he  had 
confided,  that  pure,  angelic  being,  whose  very  ex- 
istence seemed  to  be  entwined  with  his  own,  had 
never  loved  him  !  She  preferred  another !  He 
endeavoured  to  calm  his  passions,  and  to  reason  de- 
liberately ; — but  in  vain.  Who  could  have  reasoned 
at  such  a  moment?  He  mechanically  drew  out  his 
watch ; — it  was  past  two  o'clock.  Where  could 
Louisa  be  at  such  an  hour?  she  had  no  intimates, 
and  few  acquaintances,  in  the  city.  Could  any  one 
have  carried  her  away  by  force  ?  No,  no — the  truth 
was  too  plain!  Louisa  was  a  faithless  woman — 
and  he  a  forsaken,  wretched,  broken-hearted  man  ! 

1  n  an  agony  of  grief,  he  left  his  house,  and  wandered 
distractedly  through  the  streets,  until,  chance  di- 
rected, he  reached  the  confluence  of  the  rivers.  To 
this  spot  he  had  strolled  with  his  Louisa  in  their 
last  walk.  There  they  had  stood,  gazing  at  the 
Monongahela  and  the  Alleghany  uniting  their  streams 
and  losing  their  own  names  in  that  of  the  Ohio  ;  and 
Louisa  had  compared  this  "  meeting  of  the  waters" 
to  the  mingling  of  two  kindred  souls,  joining  to  part 
no  more — until  both  shall  be  plunged  in  the  vast 


268  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

ocean  of  eternity.  To  the  lover — and  St.  Clair 
was  still  a  fervent  lover — there  is  no.  remembrance 
so  dear,  as  the  recollection  of  a  tender  and  poetic 
sentiment,  breathed  from  the  eloquent  lips  of  affec- 
tion ;  and  the  afflicted  husband,  when  he  recalled 
the  deep  and  animated  tone  of  feeling,  with  which 
this  natural  image  was  uttered  by  his  wife,  could 
not  doubt  but  that  it  was  the  language  of  her  heart. 
All  his  tenderness  and  confidence  revived ;  and  he 
turned  mournfully,  with  a  full  but  softened  heart, 
determined  to  seek  his  dwelling,  and  wait,  as  pa- 
tiently as  he  could,  until  the  return  of  day  should 
bring  some  explanation  of  Louisa's  conduct. 

At  this  moment,  a  light  appeared,  passing  rapidly 
from  the  bank  of  the  Alleghany  towards  the  town. 
In  an  instant  it  was  lost — and  again  it  glimmered 
among  the  ancient  ramparts  of  Fort  du  Quesne — 
and  then  disappeared.  He  advanced  cautiously 
towards  the  ruined  fort,  and,  clambering  over  the 
remains  of  the  breast-work,  entered  the  area — care- 
fully examining  the  whole  ground  by  the  clear  moon- 
light. But  no  animate  object  was  to  be  seen.  A 
confused  mass  of  misshapen  ridges,  and  broken 
rocks  were  alone  to  be  discovered — the  vestiges  of 
a  powerful  bulwark,  which  had  once  breasted  the 
storm  of  war. 

"  It  is  deserted,"  said  the  bereavedhusband, "  like 
my  once  happy  dwelling.  The  flag  is  gone — the 
music  is  silent — the  strong  towers  have  fallen,  and 
all  is  desolate!" 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 


269 


Perplexed  by  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the 
light,  and  indulging  a  vague  suspicion  that  it  was  in 
some  way  connected  with  his  own  misfortune,  he 
continued  to  explore  the  ruins.  A  faint  ray  of  light 
now  caught  his  eye,  and  he  silently  approached  it. 
He  soon  reached  the  entrance  of  an  arched  vault, 
formerly  a  powder  magazine,  from  which  the  light 
emanated.  The  doorway  was  closed  by  a  few 
loose  boards,  leaned  carefully  against  it,  and  evident- 
ly intended  only  to  afford  a  brief  concealment ;  but 
a  crevice,  which  had  been  inadvertently  left,  per- 
mitted the  escape  of  that  straggling  beam  of  light, 
which  had  attracted  his  attention,  and  which  pro- 
ceeded from  a  small  taper  placed  in  a  dark  lantern. 
Two  persons  sat  before  it,  in  one  of  whom,  the  as- 
tonished St.  Glair  recognised  his  late  companion, 
the  gambler !  The  other  was  a  coarse,  ill-dressed 
ruffian,  with  a  ferocious  and  sinister  expression  of 
countenance,  which,  at  once,  bespoke  his  character. 
They  were  busily  examining  a  number  of  large  keys, 
which  seemed  newly  made. 

"  Bad,  awkward,  clumsy  work !"  said  the  gam- 
bler ;  "  but  no  odds  about  that,  if  they  do  but  fit." 

"  It's  ill  working  in  the  night,  and  with  bad  tools," 
rejoined  the  other.  "  Me  and  Dick  has  been  at  'em 
for  a  week,  steady — and  if  them  keys  won't  do,  I'll 
be  hanged,  If  I  can  make  any  better." 

"  Hav'n't  I  been  working  in  the  night  too,  my 
boy  ?"  said  the  gambler.  "  1  have  made  more  mo- 


270  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

ney  for  us  since  dark,  than  a  clumsy  rascal  like  you 
could  earn  in  a  month." 

"Clumsy  or  no,  you  put  us  into  the  danger  al- 
ways, and  play  gentleman  yourself." 

"  Well,  that's  right.  Don't  1  always  plan  every 
thing?  And  don't  I  always  give  you  a  full  share? 
Come,  don't  get  out  of  heart.  That  key  will  do — 
and  so  will  that. " 

St.  Clair  could  listen  no  longer.  Under  any 
other  circumstances,  the  scene  before  him  would 
have  excited  his  curiosity ; — but  the  discovery,  that 
he  had  been  duped  by  a  sharper — a  mere  grovelling 
felon — added  to  the  sorrows  that  already  filled  his 
bosom,  stung  him  so  keenly,  that  he  had  not  pa- 
tience nor  spirits  to  push  his  discoveries  any  further. 

"  It  was  for  the  company  of  such  a  wretch,"  said 
he,  as  he  again  mournfully  bent  his  steps  homeward, 
"  that  1  left  my  Louisa !  Perhaps  she  may  have 
guessed  the  trulh.  Some  eaves-droppers  may  have 
whispered  to  her,  that  I  was  the  associates  of  gam- 
biers  and  house-breakers  !  Shocked  at  my  duplicity 
and  guilt,  she  has  fled  from  contamination! — No, 
no  !  She  would  not  have  believed  it.  She  would 
have  told  me.  She  would  have  heard  my  explana- 
tion. Her  kind  heart  would  have  pitied  and  forgiven 
me.  Perhaps  my  neglect  has  alienated  her  affec- 
tion. 1  have  left  her  too  often  alone,  and  in  doubt. 
She  has  suffered  what  1  have  felt  to-night,  the  pangs 
of  suspense  and  jealousy.  She  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  my  cruelty  has  driven  her  for  ever  from  me !" 


THE  BILLIARD  TABLE.  271 

He  again  entered  his  habitation.  How  changed  ! 
No  hand  was  extended  to  receive  him  ;  no  smile  to 
welcome  him.  All  was  cheerless,  cold,  and  silent. 
A  candle,  nearly  exhausted  to  the  socket,  was  burn- 
ing in  the  parlour,  shedding  a  pale  light  over  the 
gloom  of  the  apartment :  but  that  bright,  peculiar 
orb,  that  had  given  warmth  and  lustre  to  this  little 
world,  was  extinguished  !  St.  Clair  shuddered,  as 
he  looked  round.  Every  object  reminded  him  of 
the  happiness  he  had  destroyed  ;  and  he  felt  him- 
self a  moral  suicide.  Half  dead  with  cold,  fatigue, 
and  distress,  he  approached  the  fire — when  a  note, 
which  had  fallen  from  the  card-rack  to  the  floor, 
caught  his  eye.  The  address  was  to  himself,  and  in 
Louisa's  hand  writing.  He  tore  it  open  and  read  as 
follows : — 

"  That  agreeable  woman,  Mrs.  B.  who  has  paid 
us  so  many  kind  attentions,  has  just  sent  for  me. 
She  is  very  ill,  and  fancies  that  no  one  can  nurse 
her  so  well  as  myself.  Of  course,  I  can  not  refuse, 
and  only  regret,  that  I  must  part  with  my  dear 
Charles  for  a  few  hours.  Good  night. 

Your  devoted 

LOUISA." 

The  feelings  of  St.  Clair  can  be  better  imagined 
than  described,  as  he  thus  suddenly  passed  from  a 
state  of  doubt  and  despair,  to  the  full  tide  of  joy. 
He  kissed  the  charming  billet,  and  enacted  several 
other  extravagances,  which  our  readers  will  excuse 


272  THE  BILLIARD  TABLE. 

from  relating.  He  retired,  at  length,  to  his  couch 
— where  his  exhausted  frame  soon  sunk  to  repose. 

He  rose  early  the  next  morning.  Louisa  was 
already  in  the  parlour  to  welcome  him  with  smiles. 
He  frankly  related  to  her  all  that  had  happened  on 
the  preceding  night.  Louisa's  affectionate  heart 
sympathised  in  the  pain  he  had  suffered,  and  tears 
stole  down  her  cheek  which  was  pale  with  watch- 
ing. 

"  Do  not  tell  me,"  said  St.  Glair,  "  that  I  have 
only  suffered  that  which  you  have  often  endured. 
No — you  will  not  reproach  me — but  I  know  it,  I 
feel  it ;  and  I  here  renounce  gaming  for  ever  !  Never 
again  shall  you  have  cause  to  complain  of  my  dissi- 
pation or  neglect." 

He  kept  his  word  ;  and  acknowledged  that  the 
peace  and  joy  of,his  after  days  were  cheaply  pur- 
chased with  the  miseries  of  that  eventful  night. 


THE    END. 


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